If Fate Destined Us Together
by Twelve Winterflowers
Summary: 16-year-old Sakura Mikan is a poor girl living on the streets with her gambling father and sick mother. Hyuuga Natsume is a rich, handsome and heartless playboy. By a stroke of fate, these two unlikely lives cross paths...more than once.
1. Prologue

_**-Note: This is my first fanfiction story... Please write a review so that I'll know what you think about it. Thanks!-**_

_Fifteen-year-old Sakura Mikan is a poor girl, living on the streets with her gambler of a father and a sick mother. Hyuuga Natsume is a rich, handsome, almost-perfect guy who had no worries in life - or so everyone thought. He's a heartless playboy, according to rumor. But then, the two cross paths - more than once. Will Fate ever bring the two tortured souls together, or will they remain far from the other's reach, as things were meant to be?_

**Prologue**

Natsume stared blankly into the distance, outside his twenty-room mansion. The rain was pouring quietly against the windows; the sky was gray and the roads deserted.

The city was surrounded with a gloomy air, as always. There was nothing about that city that was exciting; most of its inhabitants were always grumpy, cranky, or moody because of the rainy season. That would mean that it would be harder to find work, and with no work, they wouldn't have food to eat.

But Natsume didn't have to worry about that. He was born rich; his father was a successful merchant, and his mother was a well-respected doctor. He always had things easy. He rarely had to lift a finger to work; even squirting toothpaste onto his toothbrush was done for him. Naturally, he was oblivious to the fact that there were people starving out there.

He touched the cold glass of the windows. His own fingertips were cold, and, though he wasn't conscious of the fact, so was his heart.

He shifted his gaze to the huge billboard across the street. There was a picture of the Hyuugas, all smiling. Indeed, it was a picture-perfect moment.

Or so everyone else thought. Natsume sneered at that banner, knowing that all of them there had plastered fake smiles on their faces, knowing that their family wasn't a happy one.

The Hyuugas may seem like the ideal family. Once a week, there's a picture of their family on the newspaper: Mr. Hyuuga, with his arm around his wife, smiling, then the two children, Natsume and Daisuke Hyuuga, standing on either side of the couple. But what they don't see behind all that grandeur and glamour, all those smiles, all that money, those mansions and flashy cars, is the absence of real love and care in their family.

Mr. Hyuuga was always away from home, and he barely spent time with the family. Mrs. Hyuuga woke up very early in the morning and went home late at night working in the hospital, or sometimes, she didn't even come home. So, the two children were virtually parentless.

Moreover, the two siblings never said a word to each other. But both were the same: they were always out partying, spending their cash left and right on expensive, useless things and getting drunk. Although Natsume wasn't as bad as his brother, as he still studies with his tutor every morning, he still copied the things Daisuke does.

He breathed on the cold glass, fogging it up. Then, with one finger, he wrote on the fogged-up portion, "I hate this life" in capital letters.

After awhile, the fog faded, and so did the words he wrote. At that moment, a delicate hand tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

He turned around and came face to face with a gorgeous teenaged girl. She was wearing a black pleated skirt and a fitted red spaghetti-strapped top. Paired off with that was a pair of black Manolos. Her hair was messy and her pale blue eyes dazed as she smiled at him.

"Well?" she said, curling her fingers around his, "Let's go. They're waiting for us."

"I'm not in the mood, Rina," he mumbled coldly, withdrawing his hand from hers.

"Please?" she begged. "You promised. There's guaranteed to be a lot of people there waiting for your appearance."

He sighed. He took his jacket off the rack and walked out the door, into the bitter rain, heading to the pub. Rina, the girl and his muse, followed him, a smile playing on her lips.

* * *

The next morning, Mikan woke up early in order to find some work. It was a hard time for their family, especially that her mother was sick; her father, on the other hand, was out gambling their life savings with the other drunken men, not lifting a finger to help.

She quietly got dressed, covering up the bruises and wounds on her petite body. Every night, when she came home without money, her father would beat her up cruelly; sometimes, out of his drunkenness, he would use a cigarette butt to burn her arms, or he would use a wooden stick to hit her. Then he would make her sleep outside the cold, rainy night, with only a small cot. But she endured these tortures without complaint.

It used to be her mother who defended her, who stood up for her. Now, the illness was slowly draining both the strength and life out of her once-strong, capable body.

She tiptoed into her sick mother's room and crept to her side, making sure her father wouldn't wake up.

"Ohayo," she whispered.

"Ah, Mikan," her mother said weakly, not attempting to open her eyes.

"Don't move, mother," she said. "I'll bring home some food for you to eat tonight. We'll have a feast."

Mrs. Sakura laughed softly. Her daughter certainly had an amazing imagination. She slowly moved her hand to hold her daughter's trembling, bone-thin one.

"Your hands are cold, Ma," Mikan said, shocked. "Would you like me to warm them for you?"

"No," she said. "You're not eating well, are you? Your hands are thin."

Mikan clasped her mother's hand with both her small ones and said, "I told you, don't worry. You have to focus on getting well now. I have to go now. Take care."

She kissed her mother's cheek and left the house.

She shivered uncontrollably as she walked under the rain. They had no umbrella, and she had no coat, since she lent it to her mother to use as her blanket.

She stared longingly at the stalls of luscious fruits and fresh vegetables, wishing she could sink her teeth into at least one of those. She watched the butcher spread out his choice meats and the baker open up his shop. The delicious smell of fresh bread wafted over the surrounding streets.

She smiled a warm smile at each of them, none of whom returned her smile back.

But nothing would stop her from spreading cheer into the gloomy town. Every turn she went, every corner she turned, wherever there were people, she would smile or say an encouraging word to them, then ask them if she could work for a minimum wage.

Still, none returned her greetings.

She sighed, and, turning to the corner of a wide but crowded alley, she plopped down on the floor, still shivering.

"Hey, you there," she heard a voice call.

Mikan turned her head. A fat woman wearing a dirty apron was beckoning to her. She smiled at the woman and said, "Ohayo."

"Lookin' for work?" the woman said, ignoring her greeting.

"Yes," she replied politely, walking towards her.

"Good. I need you to wash these two bundles of clothes in the river."

Mikan was intimidated by the two huge bundles of dirty clothes that the woman handed to her. She staggered under their weight.

"I expect them to be done by four o'clock. If you manage, I give you money. If you don't come on time, I don't pay you."

"Yes, ma'am." Mikan walked away quickly under the soft drizzle, thankful for the job offer. She wasn't entirely sure, though, if she could manage to wash all of them by four o'clock, but she was willing to take the risk of her efforts being put to waste if she wasn't able to accomplish it. There was only one thing on her mind now: her sick, starving mother.

**well, sorry if the first part is boring. All introductions I make are, anyway.. :) Please review**


	2. First Sight

_Thanks for the reviews, __the emotic addict_, _animelover4ever1994_, _ersatzeuphoria__Toboesgal_, _petalsarefallingxoxo_, _Cutenatsumexmikan_, _and others_! _I really appreciate them! This is like my first fanfic story… Sorry if the prologue was boring. I'll make this chapter less boring… I hope. Please review! _

**Chapter 1: First Sight**

The rain was still pouring the time Natsume awoke, though the clouds were starting to clear up.

It was well past noon already. He had stayed in the bar far longer than he had wanted to – up to four a.m. – but luckily, his mother hadn't gone home that night; otherwise, she would've caught him.

He steadied himself, clutching his head tightly. He had probably taken in too much alcohol… was it ten shots? He couldn't even remember a single thing he did last night.

"Sir," the maid said, knocking on the door. "Your lunch is ready."

"I'll be there," he murmured, getting off the bed. He slipped on his slippers and his shirt. But he quickly took the shirt off again; it had the stench of beer.

He dragged himself down the stairs. Upon seeing Daisuke and his girlfriend, who were already eating at the table, looking dazed and drunk, he turned to the maid, saying, "I'm not eating anymore. When's sensei coming?"

"He's not, sir. It's his day off," the maid replied, looking a bit scared.

Natsume scoffed. "I can't believe this."

He went back up the stairs and took a short shower. He slipped on the first clothes he could grab from his messy closet and took his coat from the hanger, deciding to do something he didn't really do much – walk around the town.

He grunted as he stepped out into the rain, placing a hat on his head to cover at least his eyes. He lowered his head and headed to the market, bringing only his gold Rolex watch with him.

* * *

Mikan checked the time on her co-washer's watch. It read 3:30. "Oh no!" she thought, panicking. She hadn't eaten lunch or even breakfast yet, and she was sitting on a hard rock, trying, in vain, to dry the clothes. It was raining awhile ago, after all. 

She had done the other bag already. It was already bundled up; everything in there was neat and clean. But the second sack had been splashed on by mud after she had just finished half of the bundle, so she had to wash them all over again.

"Have you heard?" one of the teenaged washwomen said. "Natsume was seen last night, in the bar."

"Yeah?" another scoffed. She was an adult washwoman, maybe in her late twenties. "That guy. He was seen with yet another girl. He really can't stay loyal to one."

"But he's pretty handsome; more so up close and personal, I've heard," said the teenager animatedly. "I wish I could be his girlfriend."

"Tsk," said the older lady, "The two Hyuuga boys don't have girlfriends, dear. They have _dates_, but not girlfriends."

Mikan beat the wet laundry with a stick, exhausting all the energy she had left. Finally, at quarter to four, she packed up all the clothes again. Rushing out of the place, she said to the other washwomen, "Thanks for the help! Ja!"

She staggered to get to the place where she had found the fat lady. Sure enough, the woman was there; impatiently tapping her foot and checking her watch from time to time.

"Konnichiwa!" she said, handing the two bundles to the woman, panting for breath. Her hands were raw already; a few cuts were visible on her work-worn hands.

The woman stared at her sternly and said, "You're ten minutes late." Mikan's heart sank as the lady inspected her washing, which almost sparkled, as they were so clean.

"But since your washing is excellent…" The fat woman handed her some money, and Mikan gasped. The money was enough to feed her and her mother their dinner. "Arigato goizamasu!" she said, bowing. Then she left, tucking the money safely in her pocket.

She was halfway home when she caught sight of her father gambling with his friends in front of a famous restaurant. She quietly slipped past him, not knowing that there was a pair of unnoticeable, curious eyes watching her.

Her father caught sight of her, and she seemed to be sneaking past him. "Mikan! What are you hiding?" he demanded.

She froze momentarily then said innocently, "Nothing."

He cuffed her on the ear and ordered, "Empty your pockets."

His friends watched the scene, chortling loudly at her. She lowered her head, ignored the blood that trickled down her ear, and unwillingly emptied her pockets, revealing the money she earned from ten hours' labor.

In the restaurant, Natsume watched the scene. Leaving a tip on the table, he walked out the restaurant.

"But it's for Mama's food," she protested weakly.

"Shut up," her father said, throwing the money on the gambling table.

"No, don't –"

"Keep quiet, I said!" he roared, kicking her side.

She was brought to her knees, spitting out blood. Tears formed in her eyes, and her father grabbed a clump of her hair.

"Hey you, let her go."

Mikan saw, from her peripheral vision, a teenaged boy in a tattered coat and a black, torn hat; he looked like he came from a poor family as well. She couldn't see his eyes; they were covered by the edge of the hat.

Her father glared at him pointedly. "And who do you think you are, boy, ordering your elders around like that?" he sneered.

The stranger didn't answer. He just kept quiet.

"What? Scared, huh?" he mocked, letting go of Mikan.

"Do you really want to know?" the stranger said enigmatically. "Because you're going to regret it."

The men just laughed at him, some saying "What a brat", as the mysterious person pulled his sleeves up a little, revealing a gold Rolex watch. He lifted the rim of his hat.

_O.o It's another long chapter... How was it? Please review! Criticisms are welcome._


	3. Gift

_Once again, I'd like to thank __the emotic addict_, _animelover4ever1994_, _Toboesgal_, _Invictuslass_, _Chee Chee Alyna_, _Cutenatsumexmikan_, _EzMouse_, _natsumemikan06_, _dominiqueanne_ _and others_ _for reviewing! You don't know how much I really appreciate them. Well, this is chapter two, and I hope you'll like it… _:D

**Chapter 2: Gift**

All the onlookers gasped as the person slowly took his hat off and bowed mockingly. "Pleased to meet you, sir. The name's Hyuuga Natsume." A small smirk played on his lips.

Excited murmurs broke through the crowd.

"_Hyuuga Natsume?_" thought Mikan in awe. She stared at the most-gossiped-about male among all the poor teenagers in her village, and most probably, among all other female teenagers of all social statuses (or levels).

Indeed, she had to admit, he was as good-looking as the others girls had credited him to be. He had tousled black hair, black as a raven's wing; cold and seemingly empty crimson eyes, slightly-tanned skin and a lean, athletic build. But, they say, though he is handsome, he had a heart of stone.

Her father jeered at him. "So what? Doesn't mean that because you're rich you can talk to us like that, you spoiled brat."

Natsume smiled coldly at him and retorted, "And it doesn't mean that because you're older you can abuse someone younger like that."

"Why you -"

Her father gritted his teeth and lunged at him. Natsume saw it coming and, in one swift movement, ducked, throwing his fist into the older man's gut.

The man was too slow. He hadn't seen the counter. His knees gave way; he sank to the ground, hugging his stomach and coughing.

Natsume, upon seeing he was down, kicked him on the side – exactly what he had done to his daughter.

His (Mikan's dad's) friends spat curses at him as they helped their friend up.

Natsume ignored them. His gaze was glued to the girl, sitting helplessly on the wet asphalt, blood sprayed all over her filthy, loose shirt. Her hair was messy, and she looked as if she hadn't eaten in days.

"You okay?" he said, giving her his hand.

Mikan slowly turned to face him. She had to gawp at the legendary Natsume, who was standing only inches away from her. He was like the Prince in fairy tales which she had so often fantasized about, who would one day come and rescue her from the clutches of her misery and loneliness, like in Cinderella. (Although deep in her heart, she knew that that was impossible.)

She quickly snapped out of her reverie, though, and took his hand. He gently helped her up, supporting her by putting his strong arm around her small waist. "I think I am," she replied quietly.

From the corner of her eye, she could see and hear the other teenaged girls gushing over him ("Oh my GOSH! That isn't _the _Hyuuga Natsume, is it? He is? I can't believe it! He really _is _much cuter up close!").

"Alright, Hyuuga boy," one of her father's said, "If you're looking for a fight, you'd better be able to take all of us on."

"Wait a sec," Natsume mumbled to her.

The man threw a punch at Natsume, who quickly caught his fist. Natsume smirked contemptuously, twisting the other man's arm behind his back and tightening his free arm around the drunkard's neck.

The man groaned loudly, yelling, "A-a-aah…"

Mikan shuddered as she watched Natsume. His eyes looked fierce and unforgiving, and he had the expression that an experienced street fighter possessed when he wanted to get rid of his opponent.

Finally, he let the man go, who gasped for breath.

"I don't have time for this," he grumbled as two more men approached him.

Just as the two others charged towards him, two beefy men in casual polo shirts and slacks appeared out of nowhere, shielding Natsume from his attackers' view.

"Well, about time," Natsume said, grinning wryly. "I guess you haven't met my boys yet. This is Sato Hiroshi and Wakahisa Saburo, experts in martial arts."

The other men, intimidated by the appearance of his bodyguards, were already wise enough to keep away. Though there were only two of them, they knew that they'll be dead if they still messed with them. "Let's get outta here," one muttered incoherently. The rest retreated and shot pointed glares at Natsume.

"We're sorry, sir," one said, "We weren't able to show up the moment those thugs first attacked you."

"No big deal," Natsume muttered, "I'm not hurt." He swiftly took his watch off and scanned the crowd for the girl.

She was staring emptily after her father, who still had the money for her and her mother's supper.

Natsume discreetly approached her, ignoring the other girls shrieking his name. "Hey." She turned to look at him with those lost, sad brown eyes.

He took her hand, pressing something into her palm. "Sorry I wasn't able to get you your money back. This'll be more than enough, though."

Mikan shook her head and said, "I should be the one apologizing for the trouble I've caused you. I'm sorry, and thank you."

He said nothing and put his hat back on. Turning his back to her, he walked down the street of awed spectators and screaming teenagers, accompanied now by his bodyguards.

Mikan sighed and looked at the thing he had given her.

She gasped in astonishment, almost dropping the shiny object.

It was Natsume's gold Rolex watch, studded with three-karat diamonds.

_I have to return this! _she thought urgently. But looking into the crowd, she couldn't see him anymore. He was gone.

Her shoulders sagged. She had thought he was stingy and cold, based on rumors; but he had proved her – and the others – wrong.

She felt a wave of sadness crash down on her. For a very strange reason, she felt deep down inside that she wanted to see him again. But he was a rich, famous and educated guy, whilst she was just some poor, small, insignificant beggar girl.

_Will I even see him again, aside from his picture in the newspapers? _she thought wistfully, staring at the shimmering, gold Rolex watch in her hand.

_

* * *

__O.o Well, that's chapter 2… Ugh, sorry for the fighting parts, they're not too clear. I can't write combat scenes well. Sorry if I had misspelled anyone's name up there… Hope you liked it…! By the way, please tell me what you think of it. Thanks again for the support… _:D 


	4. Coincedence

**Disclaimer: I certainly do not own Gakuen Alice. **

**NaughtyAngel12:**_ Well… thanks so much for the reviews from Chapter 2: __yam.rahs, ersatzeuphoria, __animelover4ever1994, Cutenatsumexmikan,__ pukite, Toboesgal, __Chee Chee Alyna, __crazyandproud344, dominiqueanne, lucia096, A-Z-a-0anime, and __sakurapetal246_ – _you guys made me really happy! I'm sorry this chapter's a bit late; I was really busy. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading…_)

**Chapter 3: Coincidence**

After a few moments of thinking it over, Mikan decided to sell the watch and not to keep it. After all, he did give it to her to buy food, and what would she do with such an expensive, flashy watch, anyway? When she wore it going around town, well, she would look absolutely ridiculous; people would think she stole it.

She asked around town for the nearest watch dealer, but the watch dealers in town only bought watches from the manufacturers. Then she asked for the nearest pawnshop, but there was none in their town.

"The traders are here, I think," said one boy to her after she had asked him about the pawnshops. She thanked him and went on her way.

Mikan stopped by a small tent with a neon-green top, noticeable from afar. In this tent lived a sly trader by the name of Gorou, who had a hobby of collecting trinkets from exotic places then selling them to the women. He visited their village once a year.

"Excuse me, is anyone home?" Mikan asked, standing outside the tent.

"Who's there?" inquired a hoarse voice from inside. It sounded very unwelcoming.

"I'm a local, and I came to trade," she replied.

She heard a growl from inside, but after awhile, a gaunt man with wary, black beady eyes in his late forties opened the flap of his tent. "Come in. What brings you here, then, girl?"

"I came to trade with you," she replied, stepping in the dark tent. She sat on a stool near his wares, and, reaching into her pocket, revealed the gold watch.

"Would you know how much this is worth?" she asked.

Gorou's eyes gleamed at the sight of the watch; then he stared at her suspiciously. "Where did you get a treasure as expensive as this?" He took it from her hands.

"Someone gave it to me," she said softly. "So, will you buy it?"

"This watch would cost millions of yen," he murmured inaudibly. Then he asked, "Who gave it to you?"

"U-uh," she stammered, "One of the Hyuugas."

He eyed her doubtfully. "You must have stolen this."

Her eyes widened. "No!" she objected vehemently, "I would never do that."

He looked at her doubtfully. She was definitely a poor girl… Did one of the Hyuugas really give it to her? "I've heard that the Hyuugas are around town more often now. You must have filched it from them while they were here."

"No! I swear on my life, they gave it to me!"

"Alright then," he said, "I'll go ask the other traders what this is worth. Come back tomorrow."

"I'll go ask myself," she said, regretting that she had gone in his tent. She should've traveled to the next town instead and asked a more decent trader. How stupid of her to trust someone who didn't like her.

"Come back tomorrow," he said, glaring at her.

She opened her mouth to object, but a shoved her out of the tent and closed the flap. "Give back the watch!" she said, attempting to lift the flap. But as she did, a spark of fire flared from inside, reaching her fingertips. "I said come back tomorrow!" he roared.

Her shoulders sagged, a sad expression painted on her angelic face. "Make sure you have it with you!" She huffed and turned around, heading to a nearby shelter to spend the night so she could rush up to the tent earlier tomorrow. She got excited just thinking that she would soon have food to eat.

* * *

The next morning, Mikan was up at dawn. She hadn't found a shelter to stay in the night before, so she had to sleep on the streets. Her brown hair was even more tangled and messy; her shirt was filthy and her face dirty.

She tried to spot a neon-green top from afar, but she couldn't see anything too clearly. She walked towards the place where she had last remembered seeing it.

She halted, staring at the empty space the tent once occupied. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she tried looking around again.

Nothing.

_What the hell…_ she thought frantically, searching for Gorou. She panicked.

"Hello," she greeted a passerby, "Have you, by any chance, heard of a trader named Gorou? His tent was here yesterday."

The man she asked said hastily, "He left last night with the rest of the traders."

Mikan's jaw dropped, feeling her stomach drop as well. _Stupid trader, _she thought scornfully. Well, it was yet another unfortunate event for her. _I loathe him! He stole it!_

"Thank you," she said miserably to the man, walking away, her shoulders sagging in defeat. It wouldn't do her any good now to go looking for him. He was gone, and he stole the watch.

Not far from the place she was in was the hospital, where the interns, doctors and nurses were starting to check in for work. She passed by that hospital, staring blankly at the people around her.

Unexpectedly, someone bumped into her, hitting her hard on the shoulder. She landed on her butt with a loud _thud_.

She heard a small gasp, and she looked up. "I'm so sorry," apologized the woman who had collided into her. She helped Mikan up, who rubbed her sore bottom. "I'm a bit of in a hurry." The woman had warm, hazel eyes and long, silky black hair. But she also looked very stressed and harassed, as if she hadn't slept or eaten well for a few days.

Mikan answered, smiling, "I'm okay. Do you need help?"

She gestured to the bundle of books and bag she was carrying. "No thanks," the woman said. She then quickly rushed to the hospital, struggling under the weight of what she was carrying.

Once the woman had gone in, something caught Mikan's eye. She picked it up and held it closer to her so she could examine it.

"Wow, pretty," she thought, smiling and staring at the ring. It was a platinum-silver ring with a flawless diamond stone in the center. "Maybe I should hold on to it first."

Tucking it in her pocket, she headed towards the fruits and vegetables stand, where she enthusiastically greeted the vendors and asked for work.

* * *

Natsume twirled a pen between his fingers, bored out of his mind. His tutor was finishing up the lesson, but he took a quick break first, so he was momentarily gone.

The door creaked open. Natsume jerked his head to the door, where a tall person was standing. It was his brother, Daisuke.

"This is a surprise. You're studying instead of going out?" his brother sneered.

Natsume stopped his pen from twirling and clutched it in his hand. "I always study when Sensei is here."

Daisuke frowned, his eyes darkening. He had the same hair color as Natsume – a vivid, black color. But they had different eye colors – Natsume had crimson-colored orbs, while he had dark-brown ones; they always had the same stoic expression, though, in their eyes. Tall, fit and handsome, Daisuke was as much as a heartthrob among the ladies as his younger sibling.

"I have bad news," he said, leaning casually on the wall. "Mother's going to be back home a bit early tonight."

"Well, so?" Natsume said indifferently. He didn't really care, anyway, unlike his brother who, being a wild party animal, needed to go out and drink every night.

"Just a warning. You wouldn't want to get caught."

The ear-splitting slam of the door cut through the silent state of the study room, indicating that Daisuke had left; then all was quiet once more.

Natsume pondered a bit on what his brother had just said, unconsciously twirling the pen between his fingers again.

* * *

Mikan sprinted back to her house upon seeing that the dark skies threatened heavy rain again. No, she hadn't gotten any work, and she hadn't seen _him_ around town either. Not that she was really counting on it.

As she approached their small hut, however, she saw her father serving her mother food, which was a very rare happening.

"Here," he said gruffly.

"Where did you get the money?" her mother asked incredulously, staring at the food. Her hunger got the best of her and she started eating before he answered.

"Let's just say I found some work yesterday," he replied, sitting in front of her mother and gulping down the soup noisily, making her stomach churn.

Mikan gasped. _Liar!_ she thought to herself, anger brewing in her. _She _was the one who had earned that money! _She _was the one who spent ten back-breaking hours washing filthy clothes with the stench of alcohol and perspiration! But what does she get in return?

Well, nothing, except more bad luck – the watch was stolen. She felt so bad to have that money claimed by her father who had just gambled the whole day. But, despite that, she was too scared to go in the house. Her father would just make her scrub the toilets.

She sighed wearily as the rain started falling in big, fat drops. The sky, which was light gray just a moment ago, turned into a menacing shade of black that swallowed all the light in the surroundings. The streetlights lined on the streets flickered to life, but the light they gave off was dim and gloomy; they were practically useless.

She hugged herself to keep warm and turned away from the house. Well, at least her mom would be okay. Or happy. She should be used to this by now – having high hopes of something, getting ecstatic over something that would turn out to be nothing. Besides, it had happened more than once.

She sat on the roadside, under a small roof of another gloomy-looking house. She felt around in her pockets for the ring she picked up and stared at it longingly. The diamond was so nice, so flawless… Most probably like the life of its owner. It glittered in the dark, illuminating almost a light of its own.

Just looking at it awed her already. She slipped the ring on her finger, examined it, then quickly took it off again. It didn't match her. _And it never will_, she added wistfully.

"Excuse me?"

Mikan glanced up and found herself looking into the face of the woman whom she had bumped into earlier during the day. A huge umbrella shielded her from the rain; she looked even more stressed. "Good evening, miss," she greeted with a smile on her face.

"Where did you find that ring?" the woman inquired, her eyes glued on it.

"Outside the hospital," she replied politely. "Is it yours?"

"Oh, yes, it is! Thank goodness. I was looking for it everywhere," exclaimed the woman, sighing in relief. The stress lines on her face smoothened, and she turned out to be even more beautiful than Mikan thought she was; even younger.

Mikan handed it to her, and the woman looked at her gratefully. "It's my wedding ring," the woman explained softly; showing her the names embossed on the inside of the silver-plated ring: _Hyuuga_. Mikan gasped.

_Hyuuga? _

"You're Mrs. Hyuuga?" Mikan asked incredulously, not quite remembering her first name.

"Yes," the woman replied, slipping the ring on her finger. "Thank you so much," she smiled kindly at her. "What's your name?"

"Sakura Mikan," she replied, awed.

"Why are you here outside on the streets? It's raining very hard," Mrs. Hyuuga remarked, concerned. "Would you like to come home with me instead?"

Mikan's jaw dropped. Well, it seemed as if Luck was finally smiling down on her.

"I would like to repay you for finding my ring," she added. "I insist."

Mikan knew it would be a bit rash to say yes right away, but she didn't want to let this opportunity go…

Before she could reply, though, Mrs. Hyuuga wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her under the umbrella. "Where's your family?"

"They're…" Mikan stammered, not knowing what to say.

"Perhaps we should ask them first?"

"No," Mikan replied slowly, "they're… busy."

Yes, it was a lie. But only half of it. She was desperate to eat.

* * *

"I have two rowdy boys here," Mrs. Hyuuga chuckled. "But I believe they're very decent." She hung her coat on the wooden stand.

Mikan couldn't say anything. She was standing in their entrance hall, but it was obviously bigger than her whole house already. It was a bit empty-looking, if not for the ornamental plants that lined the walls.

"You're soaking wet," Mrs. Hyuuga said, wrapping a towel around her. "I'll call in one of the maids to attend to you."

"Uh, no thanks…"

Mrs. Hyuuga smiled patiently and said, "I insist. What you need is a nice bath, then I want you to come eat with us."

Natsume proceeded down the stairs as the maid called him to dinner. He froze upon seeing his brother already on the table with his mother.

"Natsume," his mother greeted warmly. "I've heard from your sensei that you're doing quite well with your studies."

He shrugged nonchalantly, taking his place on the table. From the corner of his eye, he saw his brother smirk.

"Where's the watch that Father gave you?" she asked, looking at his wrists.

Natsume flinched. He had given it to the beggar girl the other day, not knowing that his mother would actually ask it from him.

"I lost it," he lied, careful not to meet his mother's eyes.

She gave him a stern look. "Be more careful with your things next time; that watch was quite expensive. Well, Daisuke still has his with him."

Natsume growled. _Whatever, _he thought as his brother gave him a smug look. He reached for the serving spoon of the grilled salmon, but his mother stopped him.

"We have I guest, and I suggest we wait for her before we start," she said gently, while he pulled his arm away.

_Guest? _he thought.

* * *

Mikan, on the other hand, had the nicest bath she ever had in years. The Hyuuga mansion's bathroom was really big, spacious and bright, with its shimmering white tiles and yellow lamps. Inside, there were also different soaps, shampoos, bath lilies and beauty products of which half of them she didn't even think they used. There was also a variety of aromatherapy candles she was allowed to light while taking a bath.

She stepped out of the shower room, where the maid had hung the towel she was to use. There was also a clean set of clothes for her to wear.

She dried herself before wearing the nice, pink polo shirt and denim cropped pants, which fit her snugly. There was also a pair of worn-looking but unsoiled blue slippers. She slipped them on and finally she tied her long, auburn hair into a high ponytail.

The maid led her into the dining room and said, "Mrs. Hyuuga is waiting. Hurry in."

* * *

The very moment she walked in, she froze. Natsume's eyes met hers, and he was almost just as shocked to see her just as she was to see him. She didn't really expect that he would actually _be _there, but now that he was, she felt elated. She didn't know why, either.

She'd seen him, lots of times on the magazines, and once – now twice – in person. She saw that he was handsome, and that he had nice eyes. She saw that he was fit and lean and tall. But it wasn't really his outer appearance that appealed to her so much.

It was his inner being. He seemed so cold, so unreachable. But as she took another glimpse at him now, maybe it wasn't coldness or cruelty in those eyes of his. Maybe it was his loneliness, his sadness, his own pain.

Was it really?

But after a brief moment of eye contact, he looked away; his expression indecipherable. Didn't he recognize her?

"Here's our guest," Mrs. Hyuuga exclaimed, pleased. She went up to Mikan and placed her hands on her shoulders. "Her name is Sakura Mikan, and she retrieved my ring for me."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**NaughtyAngel12: **_I stopped it here, since it was getting a bit long. I promise I'll update sooner, though. I was just really busy for the past weeks. Hope you didn't fall asleep reading it, and please tell me what you think of it. _:D _Sorry again if I had misspelled anybody's name. Thanks again! _.


	5. Dinner

**NaughtyAngel12: **_Thanks a lot again for the reviews from the previous chapter. And I should also apologize for the cliffhanger (if that's what you call it _:D_), but it's a habit of mine. I'll try to stop doing those. _:))_ Anyways, thanks again for the reviews. _:D

**Chapter 4: Dinner**

_Have I seen her somewhere?_ He thought, and then suddenly, he remembered. _The beggar girl. _

He avoided her curious gaze. There was something in her eyes – he didn't know what, exactly, but there was _something_ – that made him have the feeling that she could see right through him. And he didn't like it.

"My boys, Daisuke," she gestured to the first one to the right with dark-brown eyes like hers, then to the one next to him. "And Natsume."

"Hi," she said, smiling.

Daisuke grinned back. Natsume could see it in his eyes. He knew what his perverted brother was thinking: _I like her._ Although they both knew she was a beggar girl, they could see her beauty shining through. She looked so different now from when he first saw her.

When he met her on the streets, she was a complete and sorry mess. Her clothes were worn, her face filthy, and her hair matted and tangled. And, she somewhat smelled, too.

Now, he observed that when she was neat and clean, she wasn't too bad. She was really cute up close.

He looked up to glance at her – it would've been rude if he just stared at his plate – and she was smiling at him.

He froze. That smile… her smile was so warm. But, again, it was like she knew the emptiness he felt; as if she could sense his loneliness. So he didn't smile back. Instead, he tore his eyes off her, and stared at his plate again.

"Why don't you sit here, beside me?" Mrs. Hyuuga suggested.

Mikan sat down on the soft, satin-lined chair, feeling quite comfortable. The food that was laid out before her looked and smelled especially good; it made her mouth water.

"Alright, let's eat."

They let her have the first serving. "Please, don't be shy. You're our guest, so help yourself." Mrs. Hyuuga coaxed.

"Thank you," she said tentatively. Mikan had really admired her for her hospitality, and especially after a long day.

After a few moments, when everyone had food on their plates, Mrs. Hyuuga proceeded to start a conversation. Mikan could tell by her voice that she really and truly cared for her sons; she could see it in the woman's eyes – the warmth, the love, and the stern look parents give their children.

But her sons, sadly, did not return the affection and devotion their mother had for them. Mikan knew by the way they were so cold and restrained towards her, how they couldn't look straight into her eyes, how they answered back at her.

"I want a raise in my allowance," Daisuke announced.

Their mother shook her head. "Daisuke, I've already told you, no."

He was stubborn. "Why not?" he pressed.

"I've talked to your sensei over the phone today, and I found out from him that you haven't been doing well. Unless you improve, you won't be getting your allowance."

He froze. For a moment, no one spoke. "Fine," he said. There was a hint of exasperation in his voice. He was used to getting what he wanted, and he was infuriated when things weren't done his way.

"Fine," he said again, this time standing up, and, without even finishing his food, turned around.

"Daisuke," his mother said, sternly but gently, "this is for your own good."

He didn't listen. He just left the table.

Mrs. Hyuuga turned to her. "I'm sorry about that."

Mikan suddenly realized that she was just staring after him, and that she had stopped eating. She hastily shoved a spoonful of rice in her mouth and muttered, "No, it's OK."

The atmosphere was much more relaxed after he had left. Natsume started answering his mother more respectfully. From time to time, Mrs. Hyuuga would turn to Mikan and ask her a few questions, like, "Where do you live?" or "How old are you?" But it was nothing about her personal life, just the general questions all mothers ask.

After a few moments, a maid entered the room. "There's someone on the phone for you, Ma'am," she said.

"Oh, excuse me," Mrs. Hyuuga said, swiftly standing up and exiting the room.

Mikan was left alone with Natsume.

For a few moments, nothing was said between them. Then, finally, Natsume spoke.

"The watch," he muttered, "someone stole it, huh?"

Mikan cringed. Without looking at him, she blurted out, "Yes it was. I'm really sorry, I wanted to return it to you but –"

He looked up at her, and saw that her eyes were sad, regretful. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Who did you give it to, anyway?"

"A trader," she answered tentatively.

Natsume scoffed. "You idiot. You don't trust traders in this town."

She gasped, slightly offended. "I didn't see how I could –"

"There are more trustworthy pawnshops just a little outside town," he interjected, amusement evident in his crimson eyes. He completely forgot the feeling of unease he had felt with her scrutiny earlier.

"Well," she started, thinking of what to say next. "Well, you gave me the watch!"

"Aren't you grateful?" he said breezily, a small smirk playing on his lips. "That goes to show you don't care for your things."

"I _do_ cherish my things!" she retorted quickly, fuming. "I just happen to have a lot of bad luck, and those things get lost!"

"I can see that," he remarked in a slightly mocking tone.

She frowned. He didn't look very sympathizing. He was definitely amused, though. Maybe her first impression of him was wrong, after all. Maybe he really was a jerk.

She grunted at him and resumed eating. Silence fell over them again.

Mikan started eating hastily, not wanting to argue again. She took the glass of water beside her plate and brought it to her lips, but as she did so, it slipped from her hands and shattered to pieces on the floor. Not only that, but she was soaked with water as well.

"Shoot," she mumbled.

Natsume chuckled softly. "Clumsy, eh?"

She glared at him, and without even thinking of what she was saying, she exclaimed, "You annoy me."

She bent over to clean her mess up, but Natsume stopped her. "You don't need to do that. Let the maids clean it up."

On cue, one of the uniformed maids entered the grand dining room, carrying a mop, a broom and a dust pan.

"Next time don't be too clumsy," he told her. "That glass was pretty expensive." Again, he smirked, and Mikan knew that he was just fooling with her.

"Well, sor-_ry_," she exclaimed sardonically. "It's not as if I did it on purpose."

The maid was quick in cleaning up; she left almost immediately.

"But you _did_ purposely eat faster so as to leave here," he said, an eyebrow quirked at her, as if to say, _I'm right, aren't I?_

"Oh, shut up," she said, pouting. "I'd want to wipe that annoying smirk off your face with my fist."

Again, he half-smiled with amusement. "Yeah?" He was enjoying this. He couldn't remember the last time he had spoken to a girl thiscasually. "Try me."

Remembering the way he fought her father, she shuddered. She had said something wrong – yet again. "You know what?" she started, changing tactics, "I wouldn't want to waste my energy on a creep like you."

"Scared?" he taunted good-naturedly. "Chicken."

She crossed her arms. "Okay, freak," she said, forgetting completely that she was talking to _the _Natsume Hyuuga and letting her mouth get the better of her, "You think you're better than I am."

"Yeah," he replied automatically.

"Well, I _know _I'm better than you are, not just _think._"

"I've been telling you to prove it," he challenged again. "Or have you got nothing else but your big mouth?"

She gulped, irritated. She wasn't even sure if she could throw a punch. The best she could manage, probably, was curling her fingers into a fist and swinging her arm without hitting him at all. "I don't need to prove anything."

"Why not?" Natsume said, playing along.

"I don't need to show anything to prove it," she replied, hoping she wouldn't say anything idiotic. "If I do what you want, I'd be destroying my dignity." _Did that come out right? _She thought worriedly.

Natsume was about to retort, but, somehow, the words had a different effect on him. _I don't need to show anything to prove it. If I do what you want, I'd be destroying my dignity._

_I don't need to show anything to prove it. _Suddenly, he could see why it had struck him so much.

_If I do what you want, I'd be destroying my dignity._

He'd been trying all his life to make people like him. Well, it all paid off, he thought, when girls started running after him instead of him chasing them, when everyone wanted to be his friend.

But what was the cost? Popularity, prestige and acceptance came at a very high price. He had lost his real identity. He didn't know who he was anymore. He was what others thought he was, not what he thought he was. His popularity made him crave more for real acceptance. He lost his integrity – he had lied and cheated to make people like him. He did things he wasn't supposed to do.

It made him hungry – not for status or fame – but for real love, when someone would really, truly accept him for his victories as well as all his flaws and failures. He felt the emptiness and aloneness creep into his heart.

Once again, the girl had managed to expose his loneliness, without even knowing it. _Who is she?_

His eyes fell to back to the plate, avoiding her gaze.

"Ha!" she said triumphantly, "Can't say anything, eh? So do you finally agree with me?" She grinned.

_Natsume, you coward, _he told himself, _Can't you even face your own feelings? Can't you even face this idiot? _Mustering a bit of courage, he glanced back at her.

Here was a girl, who had experienced real pain in life. She lived on the streets. She starved. She knew what coldness was, and she knew the pain of hard labor. She had few comforts in life. Yet she could smile.

"You can't think of anything else to say, can you?" he said, shoving all those thoughts of remorse to the back of his mind. "You have no idea what you're saying. And that's because you know I'm right."

"Oh, whatever, loser," she said, smiling in defeat.

_She didn't know what she was saying_, he mused. _I guess I was an idiot to actually think that she could see through me_. _She's just a happy-go-lucky imbecile after all._

At that moment, Mrs. Hyuuga walked in with a smile on her face. Then she saw that Mikan was soaked.

"Mikan, you're wet!" she exclaimed. "You need to change your clothes, before you catch a cold."

"I'm alright," Mikan assured her, smiling. "I –"

"No, you should go change." Mrs. Hyuuga said it firmly, and she called a maid to attend to her.

"No thanks," Mikan insisted. "Thank you so much for your hospitality. I'll be leaving now."

"So soon?" Mrs. Hyuuga asked. "Why not stay the night?"

Natsume slowly finished up the rest of his dinner.

"Thank you for your offer, but I really should leave," she said timidly. The water that spilled on her was drying up already.

"Well, if you insist…" she said. She called the maid and said something to her. The maid scurried off and quickly returned, a small basket of fruits in her hands. She gave it to Mrs. Hyuuga.

"Here," she handed it to Mikan, "Please, take it."

Mikan took it, not wanting to argue anymore. "Thank you very much."

"You're welcome." Mrs. Hyuuga smiled warmly.

"Goodbye, then," she said, bowing slightly.

Natsume looked up at her. She glanced at him and gave him a small smile. "See you around, Natsume-sama."

She then left, with the basket of fruits in her hand. One of the servants handed her an umbrella, and told her to return it the day after.

He was stunned. She had called him by his first name, and they had only met. Usually, he would get pissed, but not with her. Yeah, the girl may be poor and as well as a big-mouthed idiot, but just as much as there was something about her he wasn't comfortable with, there was also something about her that seemed so different from the others he had met.

_Bye, Sakura, _he thought, even though she had long left already. _I hope we meet again. _

**NaughtyAngel12: **_How was it? Please tell me soon so I'll know if it's good, then I'll update the next chapter._ :)) _Criticisms are welcome (by the way, thanks to Rosa en Bouton for telling me about my typos)_. _Well, please review! _:)


	6. My Best Friend

**NaughtyAngel12: **_Er… Really sorry for the late update. See, I had one of those damn writer's blocks, and I couldn't seem to think of anything interesting to write. When I did finally think of something that seemed OK, I didn't know how to put it in words. Sigh. Anyway, I'd like to thank all my reviewers once again! I was really pumped up to try and update soon when I read your reviews, but my mind wasn't working properly. Okay, enough with my babbling… Here's chapter 5. Hope you enjoy it! Please review after. _

**Disclaimer: I don't own Gakuen Alice. **

**Chapter 5: My Best Friend**

A certain raven-haired girl walked up the familiar streets of the hometown she had left for such a long time. It had been at least a month since she had come home, and she missed it terribly; despite its wet weather, bumpy, muddy roads and grouchy, rude vendors.

Imai Hotaru had been away to another country to negotiate with some businessmen and sponsors who wanted her inventions sold in their companies, since they were such a big hit. It took some time for her to decide which company, but eventually, she decided on the corporation that would pay her the most for her inventions (typical of her). Of course, she wouldn't be selling everything – only the old models.

Dragging her suitcase alongside her and trying to adjust the position of her umbrella so that she and her bag wouldn't get wet, she made her way up to the street of her house. _At last, home sweet home._

But before she could get anywhere near the gates, a cheery girl with long, wavy brown hair tied into an unruly ponytail came charging at her, her arms flung wide open in the gesture of a hug. Her clothes were wet and so was her hair because of the rain, but she didn't seem to mind. "HOTARUUU!" she cried happily. "You're baaaack!"

"Don't hug me," Hotaru said in a monotonous voice, dodging her friend's attempt to wrap her in a bear hug. "Baka. You're all wet and muddy."

Mikan sniffed. "I really missed you!" She grinned earnestly at her friend. "Want me to help you with your bag?"

"No. You'll make it dirty."

Mikan pouted cutely. "You're mean."

Hotaru smiled inwardly. Of course she did miss her innocent, childish friend. Mikan had a way of brightening up her day with all her idiotic comments, slip-ups and optimistic attitude. However, it was her dazzling, childlike smile that never failed to make the stoic inventor secretly glad.

But she was also aware of the fact that her friend was suffering from poverty. So, most of the time, she would allow – or more like demand – her to stay at her house instead of going home. Sometimes, Mikan would accept, sometimes refuse (she has to take care of her mother).

The twosome approached the gate to the Imai residence, which was almost as big and grand as the Hyuuga mansion. Almost. Well, half of her house was used as her lab and experimental area. Nevertheless, it was still big.

"Welcome to the Imai residence."

Mikan jumped at the sound of the strangely cold, flat voice and looked around. There was no one there. Cowering behind her friend, she whispered, "H-hotaru… What was that?"

"It's a speaker, baka. I installed the new security system before I left," Hotaru replied evenly.

Indeed, there was a small speaker on the wall. It was a small rectangular box with a black screen on top.

"Please place your finger on the pad," said the robotic voice.

Hotaru placed her thumb on the small, black screen. A grid of green lines appeared on the monitor, briefly scanning her fingerprint. "DNA identified. Welcome, Miss Imai Hotaru."

The gate opened automatically, letting Hotaru in, Mikan still tagging behind her. Her arm was linked around Hotaru's; an awed look on her angelic face, her mouth agape.

"Wow, Hotaru! You're a genius!" she squeaked. It was a bit strange for her to live in a high-tech world when the rest of the town used crude pieces of technology. Well, that sums up the life of a genius for you.

"Don't be noisy," she said in the same flat voice, diverting the topic to something else. "You're in private property now, baka. Try to keep your voice down."

Mikan smiled again. She just loved the way her best friend was so modest despite the fact that she was world-renown for her intelligence and prettiness, not to mention her originality in making her inventions. If only she was as smart and as creative as her friend, she might help the condition of her family. But alas, she wasn't blessed with much understanding for Math and Science. If anything, she utterly sucked at–

"Are you just going to stare into space like an idiot or are you coming in?" Hotaru said, standing behind the massive double-doors to her house. She was already inside, her hand on the knob, hinting that she was about to shut the doors in her face of she didn't hurry.

Mikan ran up to her and cried, "Hotaru, you meanie! Wait for me!"

**-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-**

From the second-floor window of the Hyuuga Mansion, Natsume watched the people go about their daily activities. As usual, there was a light drizzle, but the skies did not show any sign of heavy rain. The sun was only partially hidden behind the clouds, meaning the rain would stop soon.

He sighed heavily, leaning back on the comfortable beige sofa of the living room. To his right were bookshelves of his manga collections; to his left the air conditioner and a lone ornamental plant. Across the room was yet another couch – to its sides were armchairs – and just in front of it was a low, mahogany coffee table. An ordinary television faced this sofa, as well.

His mind drifted back to the dinner the night before.

It was true that he met countless numbers of girls, some of which he had flirted with (as long as they were pretty enough), and that he had used his irresistible charms to seduce a few to be his temporary girlfriend.

But that girl he met last night… Sakura Mikan was her name, was it?

Yes, there was definitely something about her. She was a dense idiot, but she had simply amused him. That night, he didn't once think of flirting with her, as he normally would've first done upon meeting an attractive girl. But what had they done? They had talked and bickered all throughout the dinner. That was normal for most men, but not _the _Natsume Hyuuga. No, Natsume never talked to a lovely girl before without flirting.

And how could she have possibly interpreted his emotions? Surely he wasn't that easy to read.

He frowned. He was over-thinking the situation again.

_Stop thinking of it, you idiot, _he scolded himself. _You have more important things to worry about than just some beggar girl._

He grabbed his manga from one of the shelves and started reading. Somehow, he couldn't seem to stop this old habit of his. Yes, he was almost sixteen, but he just enjoyed it too much to stop. He didn't care if Daisuke would tease him about it or humiliate him in front of his (Daisuke's) friends. _They can burn in hell for all I care, _Natsume thought spitefully at the memory of his brother's friends laughing their guts out at him. _I'm still keeping my manga. _

But after reading a page, his mind lingered back to the beggar girl again. It seemed that not even his trusty manga could distract him from thinking of the childish girl.

He grunted. _I need a drink. _

He was about to go get a bottle of brandy when he hesitated. He had always drunk alcohol when he needed distraction, and it always worked. But too much alcohol has its consequences: when he was too wasted, he didn't know what other crazy thing he'd do next… He might even kill someone without knowing it.

He shuddered slightly then decided against the drink. He strode off to the other couch and slammed his manga on the coffee table, switching the television on. He surfed the channels for a show that would divert his thoughts from the dinner last night.

He finally found a gory movie airing – _Halloween. _He settled for that.

However, not long after, he grew bored with all the screaming and violence and bloodshed. He couldn't believe that some people would actually scream and have nightmares out of these horror films, knowing the fact that they were all made-up and enhanced with computer graphics and special effects. (_A/N: That's only his opinion! No offense to those who love horror movies._)

He found himself turning the TV off and slipping on his tattered cloak and hat. He walked out of the living room and down the hallways.

"Sir, where are you going?" a maid said, running up the steps. She looked a bit surprised to see him going out. "Your lunch is ready."

"I'll be back soon," he mumbled, sweeping past her. "I'm going to town."

**-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-**

"Please, Hotaru? Please? Can we go to town? I wanted to show you the huge wedding cake the baker made yesterday!" Mikan begged, leaning over her friend's shoulder.

"No," replied Hotaru, unpacking the last of her things from the bag and handing it to Mikan. "First drawer to the right."

Mikan pouted. "After I help you unpack, then. We're almost done, right?"

"No," said the inventor again, shutting her now empty bag. She stood up and dusted her clothes.

Mikan neatly placed Hotaru's unused skirt and dress in the drawer she indicated. It was ironic that so many people gave her friend lots of party clothes, skirts and gowns, but she never wore a single one of them – unless, of course, there was something in it for her.

"Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?" she begged, flashing her adorable puppy-dog eyes to her friend. "C'mon, Hotaru! Let's go around town! Don't be such a killjoy."

Hotaru was silent for awhile, her expression still the same. She stretched a bit and walked to the door, Mikan's eyes following her.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" said Hotaru, getting her baka gun from the table.

Mikan squealed. "Yay! There's so many stuff that you've been missing out on, Hotaru. Let's go!"

She hugged her friend's arm and dragged her out the door, happily chatting away.

**-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-**

_Why did I let her talk me into this? _Hotaru thought inwardly as she and her friend weaved their way into the crowd. The light drizzle had stopped, but the air was very sticky and humid. Combined with the cluster of bodies she was smack in the middle of and the ear-splitting noise of their surroundings, it was enough to make her mood rotten. She absently fingered her baka gun while following her friend in the crowd.

"Hm…" Mikan murmured. "I knew it was somewhere here…"

They were nearing the slums already, so the place was filthy; the roads near to Hotaru's house were much cleaner and more decent. She certainly didn't want to get stuck in these roads. "We're lost."

"No, we're not!" Mikan stubbornly protested. "I was just looking for the bakeshop… Now, where was it?"

"I'm going home."

"Wait! I'll look for it first, then I'll come back to you, okay?" she said, clutching her wrist. "Wait here." Then she disappeared into the crowd.

"Baka." Hotaru hesitated momentarily before she turned around and squeezed her way out of the mass of bodies around her, intending to go back to her house.

But then something caught her eye.

Her lips slowly formed into a smirk as she took her camera out to take a picture.

_A flash_. Natsume had been looking around for the brunette when he saw that flash; he had just left his mansion a few minutes ago. He discreetly glanced up to the source.

Then he scowled darkly.

"So, Hyuuga, we meet again."

They were about two meters apart; it seemed that neither of them wanted to be any closer.

"Imai," he growled.

The two had known each other through their family's business communications; Mr. Hyuuga had always wanted to transact with Hotaru, because he had always considered her inventions both original and high-quality – not to mention new and advanced. Sometimes, either Natsume or his brother acted as their father's ambassador in transacting with her whenever he wasn't around.

And Natsume did not like the inventor too much. He considered her a very dangerous person. She always had some trick up her sleeve – indeed, she was a very crafty girl – and she wasn't one to be messed with. Also, she was very good in taking her revenge – or, in other words, blackmailing. Heck, if there was a Guinness World Record for _The World's Greatest Blackmailer_, it would go to her. She could be a good friend, though… but a deadly enemy.

He glared at her with his piercing ruby eyes. She returned his fierce glare with one of her own, but her amethyst orbs showed no emotion.

"What's a big-shot like you doing here in the slums?" she asked. But it didn't sound like a question; it was more in the tone of a demand.

He winced inwardly but betrayed no reaction on his face. "None of your business, Imai."

**

* * *

**

NaughtyAngel12:

_Uh, sorry for the last part. I feel a bit lazy to type and think of anything now... Hihi. That's chapter five. Hope you like it. (Okay, maybe it was a bit boring, but I'll reveal more in the next chapter. This one's more on Hotaru's side.) Please leave a review! :_D _I didn't proofread too much, so please tell me if I have any mistakes, etc. Again, review please! _


	7. The Privileged and the Cursed

**Chapter 6: The Privileged and the Cursed**

Hotaru Imai smiled. Natsume couldn't decide whether she looked scarier without the smile, or with the smile. "Is that how you treat an old _friend_?"

"Do you have friends, Imai?" he sneered, tipping his hat further down over his eyes so people wouldn't notice his unique red irises. The two of them started to attract a bit of attention, since they had very unusual features. Natsume, for all the realism of his disguise, still carried himself like a rich man's son.

On an unspoken agreement, they started walking with the general direction of the crowd; and although they—Hotaru specifically—stuck out like a sore thumb, they managed to look less like they were conspiring to bomb the place as they had when they stood under the tattoo store.

"You speak like you have countless of them, Hyuuga." Hotaru regarded the curious passersby around coldly. She turned to a middle-aged man who had been inching quite closer to her in the past few minutes, his eyes glued on her trousers' back pocket. "Come any closer and I will not hesitate to shoot you," she hissed, glaring daggers at him. The man pretended to not notice that it was him she was talking to, and casually continued walking pass them.

"That bastard just walked pass us five times now," Natsume grumbled. "Talk about subtle."

Hotaru snorted. "I would be a better criminal."

"I couldn't agree more," Natsume mumbled inaudibly. But little did he know that nothing escaped her eyes and ears. She squinted up at him. "You better shut up or I will be aiming this gun at you."

He rolled his eyes. "What are you doing in a place like this anyway with a gun as big as that? You're sure to garner suspicious stares, Imai. For a genius, you certainly lack common sense."

She shrugged. "A normal gun is illegal, don't you know that, Hyuuga?"

"Hotaru!" A voice gasped, and Natsume was surprised to see a certain auburn-haired girl cling to Imai's arm with a lopsided smile. _The _Imai _knows this idiot? _He thought, half-expecting Imai to point the gun to the girl's head. Nothing of the sort happened, though; Imai just glared at Mikan, but made no attempt to let go.

"It's over this road, Hotaru! You should definitely see it! It has three layers and a lot of roses drawn with icing—"

Mikan abruptly stopped talking when she caught of the stranger beside Hotaru, whose eyes glinted red under the sun. Her jaw dropped. "YOU! You're out in town again!"

He smirked at Mikan, and Hotaru wondered how did he know some idiot like her. "I get bored at home, Mikan-chan," he drawled.

"You know him, Hotaru?!" Mikan squeaked, bewildered.

"What's more surprising is that _he _knows _you_," she muttered. "Care explaining how that happened, and why you're on a first-name basis?"

"It's a long story," Natsume deadpanned. "I don't have the patience for that." His mobile phone vibrated in his pocket, even if he didn't remember bringing it with him in the first place. "I have to go. Goodbye, Imai. I can't say that it's nice to see you again."

"The feeling is mutual, Hyuuga," she droned. Mikan stared confusedly from one to the other, trying to hypothesize the possible relationship of the two. Well, one thing was for sure: it definitely wasn't love.

**-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-**

"You lazy, good-for-nothing daughter! Didn't I tell you never to come home without the money?! And what have you been doing the whole day? Gossiping with those worthless neighbors of ours?!" Mikan's father roared, aiming plastic plates at her crouched figure. "Now we don't have food to eat because you! Do you not care for your mother? She's dying and it's your fault! You don't work hard enough because you just want to have fun! The reason why we're in deep shit right now is because of your laziness! This is all YOUR FAULT!"

Her father stormed out the kitchen, probably to get a cigarette to smoke all his 'stress' away. Mikan trembled and remained curled up in a tight ball of nerves even after her father had been gone the room for five minutes. When she was positive that he wouldn't come back and start throwing forks at her, she relaxed a bit, and allowed a few tears to fall. "It's not my fault…" she whispered softly to herself. "I'm trying to help Mama…"

She slowly got up and staggered to the dilapidated small refrigerator of theirs which her father fished from a dump. Getting a piece of cloth and wrapping it around an ice cube or two, she gently pressed it on the hideous blue bruises on her arm and sniffled again. After a few moments, she put aside the ice cubes and murmured to herself in newfound determination, "I have to bring Mama some food… I will help her get well."

Mikan brought out the small basket of fruits she had received from the Hyuugas that she had carefully hidden from her father's sight. With a small knife and bowl in hand, she started to peel apples and oranges, since she heard from the fruit vendors that apples helped keep the doctor away (although she never knew why) and oranges would help boost her mother's immune system. As she did so, her mind wandered to the events earlier in the day.

_Hotaru and Natsume-sama know each other, _she pondered, puzzled. _And Hotaru won't tell me how they know each other. And I couldn't seem to explain to her how we met… _Mikan blushed when she remembered that just last night, she had dinner with _the_ Natsume Hyuuga. She knew many girls would die to be her then, and now she suddenly felt very fortunate to have met him, even if he wasn't all that. Well, she couldn't really understand how someone so egoistic and rude could be so breathtakingly handsome. _The world is unfair, _she thought bitterly, _judging people according to looks. No one wants to be born ugly anyway. And why do good-looking people like him have such good luck? There's no justice in that. _

Come to think of it, he had the right to talk to her like how he did that night. After all, who was she? A poor, filthy, uneducated nobody, whereas he was rich, influential, educated, and pretty damn famous, just like Hotaru. But she thought that maybe Hotaru was only nice to her because eight years ago she had saved Hotaru from drowning in the river outside town.

Mikan heaved a sigh and took the bowl of fruits to her mother's room. "Mama, I brought you some fruits…Mama? Mama!"

Mikan pushed the door open in panic upon seeing a flash of red coming out of her mother's mouth and straight into the bucket beside her. Her only coat that her mother used as a blanket was crusted with dry blood, and the room reeked of its smell. Mrs. Sakura coughed violently and continuously, her slight frame shuddering each time; it was clear now to Mikan that her mother suffered from a serious case of tuberculosis. It wasn't uncommon in their part of town; their living conditions were poor, and the hygiene poorer. But still, Mikan's mother had been the epitome of health before, and even worked as a wet nurse around town; Mikan never suspected her mother to fall ill to this plague that their neighbors suffered.

"Don't come nearer," her mother warned, after a coughing fit. "You will get it as well." She clutched her chest and struggled to breathe, while Mikan watched from the door still with the fruit bowl in her hands, and a sinking feeling in her chest. It felt awful to watch the suffering of others and know that she couldn't do anything to help…

Her heart squeezed painfully when her mother launched into another coughing fit, more vicious than the last, because now each cough rattled Mikan's bones.

She watched in growing despair until her knees gave way beneath her, and she buried her face in her hands and prayed to whoever would listen to her to let her dear mother live. _Life's unfair,_ she thought miserably. _So unfair…_

**-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-**

"Imai speaking," Hotaru said into her cellular phone while typing away on the computer she had modified, since the computers invented then was too slow for her taste.

"Miss Imai?" the person on the other end said tentatively. Hotaru rolled her eyes at the stupidity of the person. She just clearly said her name. "Um, okay, Miss Imai… I'm Ruka Nogi, a representative for my father Itsuki Nogi of Nogi Corporations—"

Hotaru resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. "Alright, Mr. Ruka Nogi son of Itsuki Nogi of Nogi Corporations, please get to the point."

"Uh…" he stammered again, and Hotaru wondered why they sent an idiot to talk to her. She was known to have a very short temper for unintelligent representatives. "Well, my father would like to discuss a new proposition for you concerning those computers you've invented. He is offering a large sum of money and real estates to your name if you sell your computers and copyright to our company…"

Hotaru sighed. She hated it when other people tried to bribe her to give up her patent rights to increase their own profits. "No. Mr. Nogi, I've made it clear many times to various representatives of Nogi Corporations that I will not sell you my inventions if you intend to obtain my patent as well. Now, if you please, I am very busy at the moment—"

"But perhaps you'd like to see the contract details first? This is the most generous proposal we have ever made with anyone, Miss Imai—"

"The Nogi Corporations are not known to be generous," Hotaru interrupted bluntly. "But I will not accept any sort of generous proposal if it contains the condition of me giving up my copyrights to you, Mr. Nogi. That is my final decision—"

"Please, Miss Imai, this would be a tremendously beneficial deal to both sides—"

"That is my final decision," Hotaru said forcefully. "Good day, Mr. Nogi."

And then she hung up on the poor stuttering fool. "Good riddance," she breathed, as she continued typing an article about the stinginess of the Nogi Corporations on their clients.

**-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-**

"Natsume, my dear little brother," Daisuke called from a seat in the bar, holding up a glass of vodka in Natsume's direction. "I see you've returned from your little trip to the slums?"

Natsume glared at his brother darkly. "And I see you've had too much to drink again."

Daisuke's friends laughed raucously in the background, and he just smiled coldly at his brother. "I'm glad that you are so concerned for me, Natsume," he said, twirling the glass in his hands while approaching Natsume's seat. Natsume gave him a baleful glare, as if to warn him not to draw nearer.

Natsume turned to the bartender, his promise to himself of restraining from drinking forgotten. "Whiskey for me," he grumbled.

"You're so hostile to me," Daisuke drawled. "I just wanted to talk to you about something, little brother. I'm very concerned for you as well."

"Well, luckily for you, you don't have to waste your saliva on me, because I don't want to hear it," Natsume snarled.

"Too bad, then, because you'll listen to me whether you like it or not," Daisuke snapped. "Natsume, what the hell are you doing, going out in those damn slums and stalking that girl who returned mother's ring?"

Natsume didn't even flinch at his brother's accusing tone. "Why does it concern you, beloved brother?"

"This is about our family's reputation, Natsume. No one can find out about that, or you will ruin us," he spat. "You have every rich beauty at your beck and call, and yet you settle for some poor witch? What's wrong with you?"

Natsume's eyes were cold. "One, I am not stalking anybody. Two, I am not going around the slums to tarnish the family reputation, but simply out of curiosity and boredom. And three, you have no fucking right to poke your nose into my life, since I keep my ass out of yours."

"No need to be so colorful, Natsume," Daisuke grinned wryly. "I just want to remind you about the levels of society—"

"Don't you dare try lecturing me on social studies," Natsume hissed. "You failed miserably there."

Daisuke continued, unruffled. "—that you and I are on the highest level. We're rich, educated, prominent, handsome. We have connections and the whole town in the palm of our hands. People like the girl back home yesterday? They're at the bottom of the social ladder. They're a hindrance to the government; they don't deserve to live…"

"You should listen to yourself," Natsume sneered, disgusted at his brother's words. "Such a self-righteous jackass."

"I'm the only one who's honest enough to admit that that's how the rich think," he scoffed. "Everyone else is too hypocritical to say what they think. But put any of those in our circle in the middle of a trash-filled creek, in a shanty with no electricity and God-knows-how-many kids, in a crowded, fish-smelling market place, and we'd all crinkle our noses in disgust. That's because we're totally different from them. _We_ are the privileged, and _they_ are the cursed."

Natsume gave his brother a thoroughly repulsed glare as he remembered the way the poor girl could smile and radiate so much innocence and humility despite her situation. She was the truly privileged, and his disillusioned arrogant brother was the one truly cursed. "The one I'm crinkling my nose in disgust at is you, brother. I'd rather be related to some fish-smelling, shanty-living cursed child than with you."

Daisuke shook his head at him, with a cold smile frozen in place. "You're just another hypocrite. One day, you'll realize that you share the same mindset as all of us," he declared, gesturing grandly to the noisy elite bar with the top-of-the-line sound systems, the beautiful people with classy designer garbs, and the outrageously expensive, imported alcohol. "Remember that, Natsume. Don't associate yourself with the cursed. You don't belong there."

"Natsume honey!" A gorgeous albeit drunk girl flung her arms around his neck, deliberately dipping low so as to expose her ample cleavage. As if she didn't already reveal enough with her backless plunging neckline halter top. "I was so lonely without you!"

Daisuke smirked and walked away, looking triumphant. Natsume seethed at his brother's retreating figure, mumbling, "Damn bastard, thinking he's right with all his crap…I'll never be like him…"

"What did you say, darling?" the girl breathed on Natsume's face, settling on his lap with a flirtatious smile.

"Nothing, love," he said charmingly before kissing her square on the lips. He took his whiskey and brought it to his lips, but he suddenly stopped. Oddly, he felt guilty for holding this one thousand something yen worth of alcohol in his hand and for the wealthy beauty he had in his arms as he thought of that wretched girl who could barely afford meals and showers.

"Nothing at all…" He placed the whiskey back on the counter and left it untouched for the rest of the night.

* * *

**NaughtyAngel12: **_Woot! I'm back writing! I've had a block for a pretty long time there, but now I've gathered some more ideas. The last…um…years have been a bit tumultuous for poor old me. I guess my creative juices don't work when I'm sad or stressed. But really, I'd like to thank all those who reviewed despite the stagnancy of this story. I feel uplifted every time I read your reviews, even if it's just two words short (like "update soon!"). I'm so grateful from the bottom of my heart, because appreciation is something I treasure. :) Anyway, you might be demanding, _Where are the MxN fluff?! _Please bear with me. I can't rush everything, since I don't like the story to sound so ideal and clichéd (even if it is sorta ideal and clichéd…O.O). Thanks again for all those who support this fic! Please leave a review so I'll have some feedback for the next chapters. :) _


	8. Name Game

**Chapter 7: Name Game**

Natsume watched the auburn-haired girl outside the bar from the window, helping a janitor haul huge black bags of trash into the dump, located on the alleyway behind the bar. _Is this an odd job of hers? _He mused, tuning out the idle chatter of the lovely girl beside him. But his efforts were in vain.

"Oh, Natsume-kun, you're not listening to me again!" the girl whined and pouted expertly, crossing her arms.

"Of course I am," he lied, flashing her one of his winsome smiles. "It's about your Chanel purse, right?"

The girl clapped gleefully. "Oh, you _are _listening, after all! Anyway, my new Chanel purse will be the envy of all my friends in school, because just today, Kyoko was like, 'Oh my gosh! I have to have that! Lucky bitch!' But of course I won't let her filthy claws near my baby…"

Natsume her tuned out again, smirking. At least six out of seven girls he ever talked to talked about some Chanel purse, anyway. It seemed to be the trend now.

As the girl beside him babbled on more about just how perfect that purse would look with her new Dior cocktail dress, Natsume's gaze lingered again on the brunette outside. It's been a week since she started working for the bar; and she didn't only help out at this bar, she also helped cleaning up other night clubs and restaurants down the street—wherever she might be needed. Strange that she should be doing that, since bars was probably the most dangerous place for a girl to work in, even if she was just part of the clean-up crew. Either she was extremely insane or extremely desperate.

He decided it was both.

"Natsume! You're spacing out again!"

The corner of his lips twitched in vexation. "I'm sorry, uh, Kyoko—"

"I AM NOT KYOKO! MY NAME IS RIA!!" she screeched. Natsume mentally slapped himself; Kyoko was the last name he heard, so it was the one that popped up in his mind. He really shouldn't have decided to go on with saying her name. "You're cheating on me with my best friend! YOU CHEATING BASTARD! ROT IN HELL! It's over!"

Ria wiped the unshed tears from her eyes and glared daggers at him before stalking away to the counter for a drink. Natsume could've cared less. Well, at least now he had a little more space on the couch.

_Mikan Sakura. _

Strange. He could still remember her name, and she was some insignificant poor _nobody_, whereas he never remembered the names of his rich, pretty girlfriends properly.

He was about to look out the window at the far back of the bar again when his eyes met a pair of blood-red ones, like his own. Daisuke held up a glass in his direction with a crooked smile, as if to say, _Don't forget what I said._

Natsume's own eyes hardened, and he left the wineglass he played with earlier on the table beside him. Probably his brother was right; he shouldn't have any concern for that girl—or for the poor in general. Why _should_ someone like him give a damn whether the poor lived or died? It wasn't as if his life depended on that.

He threw one last glance at his brother. A chill ran up his spine when his eyes met wicked and empty ones, and suddenly, something clicked in him. _When people look at me, do people see the same wicked, empty eyes as they see in that bastard?_

-

-

"Ya really shouldn't strain yourself," Mikan's employer drawled, taking a long drag on the cigarette. He watched the determined little thing brace herself before wrapping her two small hands around the top of the garbage bag as if to strangle it. "You still have to wash the glasses and clean up more shit inside that hellhole, pet."

Mikan groaned, sniffling a bit, feeling the coldness of the rain seep into her body. "I knew I should've washed the glasses first. Now I'll have to wash my hands extra well before starting on the job."

"There was no glasses in there to wash when you came in," he pointed out, slipping his hands under the bulky bag that gave off the most putrid smell one could imagine. Together they hauled the bag into the larger trash dumpster, already nearly filled to the brim. The garbage collectors would pick it up, hopefully, in the morning.

Well, later in the morning, that is. It was already two o'clock a.m.

Mikan heaved a sigh of relief, getting used to the smell of rotting garbage. "Thank you, Tsubasa-san."

Tsubasa Andou smiled at her. "Well, I gotta be the one thanking you, little miss. My workload isn't as harsh as before, and I can go home before Misaki leaves to sell shirts. How's your mother doing anyways, kid? You work around here later than me."

Mikan sneezed, suppressing the tears from spilling. "She's getting worse each day, Tsubasa-san," she murmured, preparing to heave another bag in. "I have to work harder, because if not we won't have the money to see a doctor, and she won't be cured…"

"Whoa, kid, calm down!" Tsubasa gave her a compassionate look. He himself was having a hard time making ends meet; it would've been easier if he hadn't run away from home and eloped with the woman he loved at 17, fresh out of high school. But despite the poverty and the numerous fights they had, he and Misaki stuck together. There was a time though when they seriously thought of splitting because they couldn't pay the rent and they hadn't eaten in three days. He thought he was unlucky then.

But when he stared at Mikan now, so young and frail and beaten dead-tired, he felt like the luckiest person on earth. Not that he rejoiced that there was someone more miserable than him, but he rather he felt contented with what he had.

"Don't worry, okay? I have a neighbor who had TB, and he didn't die from it."

Mikan nodded sadly, still uncomforted.

Tsubasa shook his head, and with a loud grunt, they lifted the second to the last trash bag, this one heavier than the last. Mikan heard the clink of bottles inside, and she struggled to maintain a strong grip on it with her raw hands; but because the bag was wet from rain, it slipped her grip and hit the side of the metallic trash dumpster. The plastic bag tore open and bottles fell, one shattering near her feet.

"Aw, goddamnit!" Tsubasa cursed, supporting the torn area with his hand and quickly pushing everything in. "Mikan, you alright?"

"Y-Yeah," she breathed, closing her eyes for a moment. She was so _tired._ "G-gomen, Tsubasa-san."

Tsubasa mustered up a smile. "It's okay, Mikan."

The sky rumbled loudly above them and the rain poured all its wrath on the inhabitants below, particularly the two despondent individuals standing on a dark alleyway, taking out the trash.

"Shit! This ain't happening to me," Tsubasa moaned. "Why does life have to be so freakin' hard on us?"

Mikan looked up at the angry sky and silently agreed with him.

"Oh, hey! Do I know you?" someone called out to the two, a drunken voice, to be exact. Equally drunken laughter followed. Mikan looked up and recognized the pair of red eyes glaring mockingly right back at her; it was the older of the Hyuuga brothers, standing at quite a distance outside on the street from them. She couldn't help but scan the faces for the younger one, and blushed a bit when she saw him a bit behind the group.

"You can't possibly," one girl sneered. "She's a filthy little dog, for God's sakes, Dai."

"Oh, but I do." Daisuke's eyes glinted malevolently. "She's the one who ate at our table after kissing my mother's ass. Taking advantage of the rich, just like the rest of your disgusting caste."

Mikan bowed her head, biting her lip to control the words that fought to burst from within her. Tsubasa, on the other hand, wasn't so tactful. "You rich dogs are the ones oppressing us poor!" he spat. "Self-centered assholes!"

"You would be rich like us if you poor bums weren't so lazy," one grumbled, and it was echoed by a drunken chorus. "Hyuuga's right, you know? All you do is sit on the street and beg and drink and gamble your life off. None of you know how to work."

"Ya wouldn't be rich now if it weren't for your parents' bank accounts," Tsubasa snapped. "Ya bitches don't do anything but sit around and drink and gamble all day and sap your parents' wallets dry."

"Yeah?" Daisuke challenged. "I bet I could become a business tycoon if you worked hard enough. Or your lazy parents work hard enough."

"If I were poor, I'd just think up of some business and persevere, if you know what that word means," the girl scoffed. "You poor will always be poor because you never do productive things."

Another comeback was on Tsubasa's lips, but he was stunned when Mikan finally began to speak, in a harsh, hoarse whisper. "You rich people don't know how it feels like. You think becoming rich is that easy when you're like us? Do you know what we have to go through? I bet none of you could imagine what trials the poor endure. You people don't know what it feels like, having pangs of hunger all the time, not knowing where your next meal will come from. You don't know how it feels like to not have enough money after a whole day's backbreaking work and to be beaten by your own father every night because of it, unsure if you'd wake up the next morning, unsure if you even want to wake up. You don't know how it feels like to be looked down upon because you simply don't have enough money for an education, for expensive clothes and shoes and underwear. We never asked to be poor. But this is how we were born and we just learn to live with our fate, live with the discrimination and suffering and oppression."

Mikan's tiny frame shook with the release of her bottled bitterness and tiredness and stress, her tearful, deep brown eyes piercing the souls of those she stared openly at.

Daisuke was the only one completely unmoved. "Let's go. I'm bored."

The group tittered at the sorry girl, their emotions moved only for awhile in their drunken state. _They really don't care about it, _Mikan thought, ashamed, watching them slide in their expensive cars and fold their expensive umbrellas.

"I'm sorry."

Mikan jolted in surprise at the low, deep voice of a male. Her brown eyes connected with Natsume Hyuuga's jewel-like ones; for a moment, she felt tingles all over her skin before he walked away.

"Way to go, Mikan!" Tsubasa whistled low and long. "That was the best speech I have ever heard!"

Mikan flushed at his compliment. "Thanks."

"That younger Hyuuga was pretty nice, ain't he?" Tsubasa commented, managing to get the last bag into the dumpster. "I mean, I always thought he was as wicked as them rich kids. But he ain't that evil for someone with bad blood."

Mikan had to nod in agreement, thinking how his eyes expressed sympathy when they met hers, however brief the emotion lasted.

-

-

Mikan awoke earlier the next morning than she would have usually done, even if she had only four hours of sleep (which was the reason for the throbbing sensation in her head). She wasn't even able to sleep well, because of her mother's violent fits of coughing. It worried her to no end that her mother would die very soon, and the money she saved was hardly enough for one check-up.

Thus Mikan decided that she would talk to Hotaru. Despite the inventor's reputation for stinginess, she knew that Hotaru could help her.

She tiptoed out of her room and brought some fresh new clothes with her. Of course she needed to take a bath before going to the wealthier parts of the town; she still reeked of trash. Unfortunately her family was out of soap, and she had to borrow from her neighbor before heading to the public bath house.

After quite a long time of showering and scrubbing, she made her way to Hotaru's home by foot; it took about half an hour or so for her when it would've normally taken her twenty minutes. She didn't feel very well now under the sun's intense heat after being exposed to the strong rain for part of the night and getting four hours of sleep for each day of the week. She sniffled and sneezed a bit, chills occasionally shaking her slight frame. _Weird, _she thought, _It's so hot now and I'm having chills?_

"Please, Miss Imai, I came all the way here—"

"Go away."

Mikan stared curiously at the well-built blond dude in front of Hotaru's gate, speaking to her through the speakers. A folder and a brown envelope was tucked under her right arm, and in his left hand was an important-looking briefcase. _Someone who wants Hotaru's inventions, _Mikan presumed with a smile. _She's so popular around here, isn't she?_

"I've been standing here for nearly half an hour now, maybe I could just—"

"If you want water, go drink from the river."

"Miss Imai…"

Ruka Nogi groaned, running a palm over his face. _This woman is impossible! _He gritted his teeth, feeling very uncomfortable already with sweat dripping all over his face and body. He was wearing an Armani suit, for goodness' sake! Complete with an inner long-sleeved polo-shirt, a formal tie, and and a thick coat, _under the freaking heat! _He knew he shouldn't have listened to his father's orders… He already told his father so many times that Miss Imai was difficult to deal with (huge understatement), but would his father listen to him? _Noooo…_

"Excuse me, sir, are you here for Miss Imai?"

Ruka spun around upon hearing the small, timid voice behind him. His blue eyes met soft brown ones, and a mild shock ran through him. After a quick, assessing glance, she rather looked like his stepmother, but as he looked closer, he decided that she was too thin and pale, and was probably a servant of the Imais. _The heat is making me imagine things, _he thought with a forced smile, wiping the sweat off his brow. "Yes, yes I have. I've been standing here for the past half-hour now and no one's been sent to welcome me in…"

Mikan giggled. "Oh, Hotaru-chan's always like that. She doesn't want to be bothered by people she doesn't know. Don't worry, I'll help you."

Ruka raised an eyebrow at the auburn-haired girl in front of him, pressing a button to the microphone-speakers set. _Hotaru-chan? Are they friends? _Ruka mused, surprised.

"Hotaru? Hai! It's me, Mikan."

"Mikan? What are you doing here?"

"I have a…um…favor to ask…"

There was an exasperated sigh at the other end. "Fine, fine. Come in."

Ruka gaped as the metal gate slid open with a rattling noise. "Finally," he muttered. "Thank you, Mikan. Is it okay for me to call you that?"

Mikan smiled. "Sure. My name's Mikan Sakura." She bowed politely.

"Ruka Nogi," he said amiably, stretching out his hand for a handshake. It didn't escape his notice that her hand was almost as cold as a corpse's; he had to contain himself from jerkily withdrawing it. "If you don't excuse me asking," he said, following her inside the grand mansion, "what is your relationship with Miss Imai?"

A maid opened the door after bowing to them, taking Ruka's coat and hat before leading them to Hotaru's 'conference room', which looked like an ordinary room but was completely soundproof.

Mikan smiled at Ruka. "Hotaru's my best friend!"

Ruka almost collided with the wall. The _Imai has friends? Is this girl delusional? _"Ah, I see…"

A cold blast of air hit the two from the central air-conditioning of the place. Ruka sighed in relief, but Mikan shivered more and sneezed. She suddenly felt hot even if it was cool now.

"Are you alright?" Ruka asked.

Mikan sneezed again, closing her eyes. She felt like she was burning and freezing at the same time; it seemed like the colors before her swirled into one big blur and the ground beneath her tilted precariously. Her legs turned to jelly, and before she knew it, she had hit the floor, the colors melding into a sea of blackness.

The last thing she heard was a shrill "Mikan!". And then she passed out completely.

-

-

**NaughtyAngel12:** _Yay! I have a lot of free time on my hands so I was able to update. :D Thank you very much to those who reviewed! You guys inspired me to write more. Even those who favorite-d and alert-ed this story (but hopefully you guys could review too). Haha. Subtle much. Anyway, this is another build-up chapter. Expect more MxN action in Chapter 9: Conversations. Hehe. I hope I can update soon. :D Special thanks by the way to caligirl17 for the extra support. :)_


	9. Conversations

**NaughtyAngel12: **_Before I start this, I just want to clear things up. Mikan had been educated up until her first year of high school, when her mother fell ill. That's why she speaks like an educated person. xD Alright, see you guys at the end! Please enjoy!_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 8: Conversations**

"Father. You asked for me?" Natsume bowed respectfully to his father, albeit thinking to himself, _Damn, Dad's surprise visits are a pain in the ass._ This morning he rushed to take a bath, brush his teeth, comb his hair and slip into a presentable outfit in ten minutes sharp, since a maid had awoken him to inform him of his father's return. Thank goodness that wasn't very often.

"Natsume," his father said in a deep, rumbling voice. He was a middle-aged man with severe, angled features, with which one could presume that he had been very handsome when he was younger. "You haven't been sleeping well."

Natsume winced inwardly, an image of Mikan Sakura dancing in his mind. What he said to her last night was completely uncalled for. He felt like he lost it then. Well, ever since he met her anyway, he felt like he already had been losing his mind. First of all, helping a poor girl? Still acceptable. Conversing with a poor girl like a friend? Questionable. _Apologizing _to a poor girl even if it wasn't his fault? Insanity.

"I haven't, Father. I reviewed for a test last night," he lied. He never reviewed for tests because he could ace them anyway with his sharp memory.

His father, Tarou Hyuuga, fell for it, though, and looked extremely pleased. "That's good. I've been receiving excellent reports from your tutors about you. Continue doing well, and perhaps we could send you to Tokyo University in the near future. You're quite advanced, actually, for your age." He paused for awhile. "And I have to ask you to run an errand for me."

"What is it, Father?"

"Are you aware that our good friends the Nogis have sent their son over to speak with Imai Hotaru?"

Natsume nodded his head, remembering the time that Ruka phoned him when he was in town. "Yes. I have been notified."

"I would like you to welcome him and tell him that we are more than happy to give him a place to stay," his father stated. "And since he will be in Imai's place, don't forget to drop these documents off and give them to her. Explain to her that it is concerning her computerized wagon, and ask if she will be willing to sell us some for the transporting of our goods."

Natsume took the folder in his hands and bowed, wondering if his lazy-ass brother pretended to be sick again to avoid the task. "I'll go right away, Father."

Tarou Hyuuga nodded and turned his back on Natsume. "Tonight we'll be having a family dinner. Be home by 7:00 pm, or you will not eat."

A flash of rebellion glinted in Natsume's eyes, but he resisted any smartass comments. He knew that his father was not a man to be taken lightly. "I understand."

Natsume swiftly left his study when Tarou waved his hand as a gesture of dismissal.

**-O-o-O-o-O-**

Mikan slowly opened her eyes, her vision slowly sharpening. She sat up and noticed that she was on a sofa in Hotaru's living room. She shivered, feeling hot and cold again, and put a hand to her throbbing head, closing her eyes for awhile to ease the pain.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

Mikan's head shot up in surprise, ignoring the slight attack of dizziness that followed. "Natsume...Hyuuga?"

He rolled his eyes before placing a tray of water and medicine pills on the coffee table, seating himself on the armchair adjacent to the sofa. "No, I'm Superman, actually. A hotter Japanese version."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I wasn't asking who you are. What's someone like you doing here, anyway?"

He shrugged. "I'm here to stop you from stealing Imai's fortune."

"I'm no thief!" she exclaimed, horrified. "Hotaru's my best friend!"

Natsume raised an eyebrow at her. "Really, now? How do you put up with someone like her?"

"Hotaru's a super nice person," Mikan defended, pouting. "Unlike you, though." Natsume found that expression of hers endearing, and even if he had seen countless pouts before, he hated to admit that he liked hers best. If she hadn't been so stick-thin and bruised and scratched everywhere, he'd consider her exceptionally beautiful. She already stood out of the crowd of commoners—that was why he noticed her—and maybe if she dressed up a bit and gained some more weight, she would be mistaken for the daughter of a rich person. Translation: he could _possibly _date her.

He sighed dramatically. "Well, of course. That's because I'm nicer." He gestured to the medicine tray. "Imai wouldn't let me in unless I agreed to help the stupid maid pick out the right aspirin for you. Now take some before you die of a headache."

Mikan blushed slightly, looking at the tray with a new light of comprehension. "Thanks," she muttered before popping an aspirin in her mouth and reaching for the glass.

"Try not to break anything," Natsume drawled.

Mikan stuck her tongue out at him. "Meanie."

"And you're really childish." Natsume Hyuuga found himself thinking that he never quite enjoyed such a casual conversation with another female. Perhaps it was partly because he felt refreshed by the lack of Chanel purses mentioned throughout the conversation. Actually, not only the lack of it, but the sheer absence of it.

"Am not!"

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are too."

"Am no—" Suddenly she sneezed, and the water in the glass spilled over. She gasped in horror. "Oh no," she groaned.

"Clumsy fool," Natsume chuckled, calling for a maid.

"At least I caught the glass," she muttered, placing the glass as far from her as possible. She curled up into a ball and shivered again. Natsume gestured to the maid to bring the tray with her as she exited the room.

_She's having chills, yet her cheeks are blotchy and red, _he observed. He frowned and walked up to her, ignoring her protests of "What are you doing?! Don't come any closer or I will...I will..."

He stooped down a bit and placed a hand on her forehead and smirked. "You will?"

Mikan couldn't find her voice, because she found herself entranced with the pair of ruby-red eyes staring right back at her. _His eyes are so beautiful, _she thought. _And he's so handsome it hurts. _Now she understood why so many girls went crazy over him: his good looks were positively unreal. He looked like some actor lost in a small, drab town like Tomoeda, or some Prince that jumped out of a storybook. Her memory took in this Natsume Hyuuga now before her: his mesmerizing eyes, the arch of his brows, the curve of his lips, the prominence of his cheekbones, the square angle of his jaw, and his hand against her forehead, sending unexplainable tingles all over her body. But up this close to him, she could see how tired he looked, with the dark circles under his eyes and the way his brows were furrowed together. Somehow, with his eyebrows knitting together like that, he looked...torn, undecided.

Unknown to Mikan, she had seen right through him again. Natsume was indeed torn. He didn't know what possessed him to come this close to the girl; this was a decision that would later haunt him and one that would cost him many sleepless nights. But for now he was content to look into her innocent, searching eyes, to behold her angelic face, and to smirk at her awed expression.

"Like what you see?" he teased softly, pulling his hand away.

"N-no!" Mikan stammered, burying her head in her arms, where her blush spread all over her face. She tried and failed to convince herself that she wasn't feeling disappointed. "I-I was just…um…just disgusted that you…uh…have such huge pores!"

Natsume smirked down on her, knowing that his pores were nonexistent. "You were staring at my pores?"

"S-sure…"

Natsume threw her his jacket, and she looked up, catching it in surprise. "Interesting hobby," he commented. "And you're burning with a fever. Better put this on, or it'll worsen."

"It was an observation," Mikan muttered, blushing even harder. Thank goodness he would mistake it as a fever. "Why do you have a jacket anyway? It's so hot outside." Taking in the scent of his jacket—a smell of guy's perfume—she slipped in on, grateful for the warmth.

"Imai lives in a mini-Antarctica, if you haven't noticed," he said dryly. "And perhaps I do deserve a thank you."

Mikan glared up at him, despite knowing that he was right. She looked away after, feeling a tad bit embarrassed. "Thank you, Natsume-sama."

"Natsume," he corrected, much to her surprise, and actually to his own as well. "I don't like the title you add to my name."

"Too bad," she smiled. His breath caught at the warmth and radiance of that single smile. "I should've tried to call you Natsume-chan."

"Maybe you'd prefer Mikan-kun, then," he answered back, with a small smile of his own. He really was going mad.

Mikan grunted. _Didn't see that coming. _"Mikan is fine," she snapped.

"Thought so." Natsume looked over to the door of Hotaru's so-called conference room and wondered why it took them so long to discuss some terms of a deal. Imai probably took her time in skewering poor Ruka with the flaws in the contract. And she'd probably take more time talking to this idiot before he could finally hand her the documents…

Which reminded him of a question he wanted to ask her. "Why are you here?"

She looked up at him, lost, but later her face broke into a mischievous grin. "Fighting Superman."

"That should make you a villain, then, as I supposed."

"No!" Mikan groaned. "Oh, just shut up. Why are _you _here?"

"I have to ask Imai something. Now you have to answer my question."

Mikan hesitated, debating whether it would be alright to tell him that she was here to ask for Imai's help. It would probably be no good, since Natsume would think that she was taking advantage of her friendship with Hotaru. But she couldn't lie, either; she sucked at lying. Hotaru once told her that anyone could read her like an open book…

"Well?" Natsume faced her and stared into her beautiful eyes again. He smirked when she looked away, and under some sort of crazy impulse, he put a finger under her chin forcing her to look at him again.

Mikan's blush spread on her face fast, like some sort of epidemic. Her thoughts scattered when her eyes met his again, leaving her mind utterly blank. "N-Not too close!"

Natsume smirked. "If you don't want to tell me, then you should say so."

"N-no! I'll—I'll tell you!" she exclaimed, unconsciously giving the bottom of his shirt a small tug. Upon realizing what she just did—mostly from the surprised arch in Natsume's brows—she let go, lowering her head in shame, mumbling incoherent apologies. _What's happening to me? Mikan, remember that he's a player. A rich, hot player. Okay, whatever. But he'll hurt you, blackmail you, crush your heart to little itty-bitty pieces—_

At that point she noticed that Natsume had been staring expectantly at her. She stopped babbling in her head and fiddled with the hem of his jacket. "Well, you see, it's—"

The sound of a door creaking open caused Mikan to jerk her head towards Hotaru's conference room, while Natsume utilized his peripheral vision to glance at them, somewhat annoyed that that Imai had chosen such an _excellent_ time to end her discussion with Nogi.

The said person looked unruffled and stony-faced as she came out, but an agitated Ruka tailed behind her, red-faced and clearly disappointed. As Natsume looked at Ruka, one of the very few true friends he had, and back at Mikan, some sort of odd feeling overtook him, a feeling he couldn't quite place...

"Ruka," Natsume called. "Long time no see."

Ruka stopped ranting at Hotaru for awhile, who was ignoring him anyway. "Natsume!" He walked up to his old friend and clasped hands with him. "I was about to visit your place after this."

Mikan looked flabbergasted. Why did it seem like everybody knew each other and she was the one left out? Did all the rich people know each other like this?

"Mikan." Mikan's attention was immediately riveted to Hotaru, who placed her hand on her friend's forehead. "Baka. You had me worried there."

"Sorry Hotaru," she apologized meekly. "I didn't mean to."

"Were you overworking yourself again?" Hotaru asked harshly. "If you die while working I won't hesitate to kill you again for doing it when I told you not to."

Mikan pressed her lips into a thin, apprehensive line. "I need to do it, Hotaru...And there's something I have to talk to you about. Can we do it in your fancy room? It looks cool!"

Hotaru easily saw through Mikan's mask of delight. "Come on. After this you're staying at the guest bedroom. I won't let you work."

"But Hotaru—"

"And I won't let you wear some asshole's jacket," she added distastefully, ripping Natsume's jacket off her back. "You could've asked for a blanket." She threw Natsume's jacket back at him. He caught it with the ease of an expert in martial arts, smirking at the irked Imai. It was seldom he got to get on the scary inventor's nerves, after all. "Come, Mikan."

Once the girls were gone, Ruka settled on the couch, and Natsume on the armchair. The latter thought of putting the jacket on again, but it crossed his mind that he might get the girl's flu. Instead, he turned to Ruka and commented, "Looks like you haven't had any luck with Imai."

Ruka sighed, raking a hand through his gelled blond hair. "I don't think luck exists when it's Imai we're talking about."

"I think that works in both ways," Natsume said suggestively, though appearing to be nonchalant.

Color rose to the blue-eyed boy's cheeks. "W-what?"

"You seem to like her."

"No!" _Like _Hotaru Imai? How was the possible?! She was perhaps the most rude, cold, impossible woman he had ever met! "No, Natsume! No way! You've got it all wrong!"

"Then why are you so flustered?"

Ruka couldn't say anything to that. Wordplay had never been his strength, after all, and he couldn't debate with someone as glib as Natsume.

"She seems to like you."

Ruka reddened even more. "Natsume! What are you talking about?!"

"She kept you in the room for a good half-hour, I think, when she already knows what her answer to you will be. Usually she doesn't keep me in the room for more than two minutes before she kicks me out. And considering that she kept her best friend waiting for awhile..." he trailed off meaningfully, with an impish glint in his eyes.

"L-let's not talk about this topic," Ruka spluttered. "We have some catching up to do, after all."

Natsume shrugged, letting him off the hook for now. "Speaking of catching up, I haven't seen your parents in some time now. Do you have a picture of them in your wallet?"

Ruka gave him a puzzled look, surprised at the curiosity Natsume showed in seeing his parents. He never asked about anyone on his own initiative like this. Unless...

"You've noticed too," Ruka muttered, awed at the sharpness of Natsume's observation skills. He took his wallet out and turned a flap over to reveal a sepia-toned picture of an infant version of himself with his biological parents. He tugged it out, and below that was a colored picture of him in his toddler age, with his father and new stepmother, since somewhere around that time his real mother had died.

He handed this over to Natsume, who examined the photo closely. "My memory was right, after all." Natsume handed the photo back to a troubled Ruka.

"Do you really think that...?" Ruka decided against saying his theory out loud, because he thought how absurd it would sound.

Natsume shrugged. "Maybe not," he said. "Although it's not entirely impossible."

**-O-o-O-o-O-**

"Well, this is new," Natsume said wryly, looking at the glass of water on the table in front of the chair in Imai's conference room. Although he was curious why it took her so long to talk with Mikan and why the latter came out sniffling and whimpering a bit before she was ushered into a guest bedroom, he held his tongue. There was no way Imai was going to give him a straight answer, anyway. "You have refreshments now for your guests?"

Hotaru regarded him coolly. "That's not for you. It's for the idiot, but she didn't touch it."

"Ah, and here I am, thinking that you've finally grown a heart," he said with a lazy smile, placing the folder on the table. "Well, let's get this over with, then."

"Before that, Hyuuga, I have something to ask you." Hotaru crossed her arms, and her amethyst eyes turned stormy. "What the hell are you planning to do with her?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied. "You could be a bit more explicit, Imai."

"And you could be a bit more perceptive, Hyuuga," she retorted, maintaining her stony facade. "I don't care if you play with all the sluts in Tomoeda. Heck, I wouldn't care if you played with all the girls in Japan. Just. Don't. Play. With. Her." She enunciated each word in her last sentence clearly for emphasis.

Much to her aggravation, though, Natsume's expression remained smooth, blank. She prided in herself for being able to mask her emotions exceedingly well while being able to read other's expressions; but it seemed that she lost her cool more around Natsume, mostly because he was better in masking his feelings in some situations.

She watched him toy idly with the condensed droplets on the surface of the water glass, a smirk forming on his lips, though his eyes remained impassive.

"What if... I'm not playing with her?"

The look on Imai's face after he said that was priceless.

-

* * *

**NaughtyAngel12: **_Dun dun dun. Hehe. :D Hurray! Another fast update! I can hardly believe it myself. xD Sorry for the vagueness of Ruka and Natsume's chat. I just wanna keep you guys guessing a bit. (Mwahahaha.) But I guess you already have a guess. -.- It's kinda obvious anyway. O.O My other GA fic is on hold because it's so hard to write. I already have ideas of how the story will go, but I can't seem to organize the stuff in my head. I'm so sorry. :( ANYWAY, THANK YOU FOR ALL THE REVIEWS!!! My smile nearly cracked my face into two when I read them. _^_________^ _So this chapter is dedicated to those who reviewed and said that they're looking forward to this chapter. You don't know how much each of your words means to me. :D And again thanks to caligirl17 for the extra support! She's a good friend of mine. xD To anonymous reviewer natsumiXXxX, your review was super touching! Thank you!! _:D _See you guys soon, if the writer's block will spare me. :D_


	10. New Beginnings

**A/N: **_Okay, so it's our break, and I have free time again! Yay! Anyway, I decided to fast-track the story a bit, since I realized that some details I planned to put in weren't essential to the plot—and so you have Chapter 9! :D Oh, I mentioned before that Mikan's mother worked as a wet nurse—wet nurses feed the babies of women who can't do it on their own. Well, read on and I hope you enjoy. I'll meet you guys again at the end. :)_

**Recap: **Mikan, Ruka and Natsume were in Hotaru's place for their own respective reasons. The latter was there for family business purposes, while Mikan was there for a personal matter. (Although it wasn't explicitly stated, she was there to borrow money from Hotaru for her mother.)

* * *

**Chapter 9: New Beginnings**

_When bad things happen to you in life, you have only two options. You can be bitter or better. Whatever of the two you choose will pave the path of your future._

_

* * *

_Mikan hugged her knees tightly, bracing herself against the cold wind of the cemetery. The past weeks seemed like a blur to her. A nightmare. She already felt as if she aged ten years from juggling part-time jobs and taking care of her mother—but all her efforts had gone to waste.

Her mother was dead.

A wave of nausea hit her as the words echoed in her mind. What did she have to live for now? All her life was patterned after her mother's. When she was a child, she'd always follow her mother to her jobs—she'd watch her mother nurse other people's babies, and when she was older, she'd help take care of those babies herself—if she wasn't at school studying. Whenever her mother went out to do the marketing, she went with her. Whenever her mother stayed home to do chores, she'd be doing the chores as well, the more backbreaking ones her mother couldn't handle anymore. When her mother fell ill, she worked odd jobs so that she'd be able to keep them alive.

Now that she was gone, Mikan felt disoriented as to what she would do next with her wretched life.

She buried her face in her hands, but she couldn't cry. All her tears were used up already, and all that was left was a strange mixture of relief, confusion and anger.

It was odd that she should feel relief, but she did—not because of her mother's death, but her father's. After Mikan had borrowed some money from Hotaru and asked the influential inventor if she could send a doctor to see her mother, she was pleasantly surprised when the doctor sent was Mrs. Hyuuga. The older woman seemed surprised as well, and because she recognized Mikan, decided to treat her mother for free—but the medicine and antibiotics, Mikan had to buy. It was this time that her father started drinking heavily, even more than he usually did, because he couldn't stand watching her mother die and not being able to do anything about it. (Mikan was surprised that despite her father's abusive nature towards her, he did love her mother very much.) So he drank and drank; when he didn't have the money to buy his beer, he gambled their furniture and bought cheaper sorts of booze. He died suddenly one day from another bar fight with someone he owed a lot of money to; he had a heart attack during the middle of the fight, and wasn't able to defend himself when that man beat him to death and threw his body into the nearby river, so as not to get discovered by the authorities.

Mikan couldn't honestly say that she was sad. She was a bit mad at the person who killed her father for taking advantage of him in his time of weakness, but since he died her wounds had finally started healing properly, as they were constantly reopened before when her father beat her. She also had increasing drive and determination each day she woke up, knowing that there was no one to hit her or wait for her to do something wrong when she rolled out of her mat. Her mother, though, didn't seem to take her father's death too well, and requested Mikan to ask people to search for his body so they could bury it properly; but no one could find it anymore, and neither could they find the man that killed him.

Her mother then dropped the subject. Mikan thought she would finally be able to recover properly—both from her father's death and tuberculosis—but she was wrong.

A week later, her mother had called for her. "Mikan, dear, I have a confession to make," she had murmured to her, who had come back that day from collecting garbage with Tsubasa to earn some money to buy food. "I haven't been taking the medications for three days now."

Mikan had been so horrified she paled even more than she was. "Okaa-san—why? Dr. Hyuuga said we could still save you! There's a 50/50 chance…"

"No, you can't," her mother said softly, her voice hoarse. The coughing had ceased a bit but had returned full force that morning. "Because I don't want to be saved anymore, Mikan. I've lived long enough. I've been through enough, and I've only pushed to survive so that your father might take care of you. But he hasn't been doing so, right?" Tears spilled from Mikan's eyes at this, as her mother leaned away to cough. "Now, he's dead. He won't abuse you anymore—I can move on—"

"Stop saying that," Mikan begged. "Please, okaa-san, stay alive for me... You're all I have left! Please, please... Live..."

"I'm not all you have," interjected her mother. "You have a real family out there, Mikan. I—I'm not your real mother. Your mother—the real one—gave you to me because... Because... you were your parents' illegitimate child."

Mikan's eyes widened. "What? How—why?"

Her mother held her hand, beseeching Mikan with her eyes to understand. "My dear, your father had been the president of a bank. His parents wanted him to marry the daughter of their rival bank to merge their companies. But the woman he loved was your mother, and after..." her mother paused, struggling for words and to catch her breath, "...a night of passion, your mother discovered she was pregnant with you. Her status would be scandalized if her parents and your father's parents found out, so she kept her pregnancy as much a secret as she could—you weren't a large baby, fortunately—and she and your father made plans of eloping. But unfortunately, he died in a car accident. Your mother was so unsettled at the loss that when I helped her give birth to you three weeks later, she told me to take care of you and keep you a secret until things cleared out; she told me that I was the only one she could trust—I was the one who nursed her when she was a babe, after all—and then she promised to come back and get you."

Mikan was rendered speechless by all the information. Her biological parents were famous _and_ rich—her real father was dead—her mother abandoned her—she was an illegitimate child, an unwanted, unplanned child... It was all too much. "But it's been 16 years," she managed to utter after minutes of tense silence. "16 years, and she still hasn't returned for me..."

Her 'mother' sighed remorsefully. "I'm sorry," she said, so softly that Mikan almost missed it. "I'm sorry, Mikan. I wanted a child so much." Her mother paused, remembering how all the babies she had given birth to were either stillborn or died a few days after from all the illnesses circulating around their cramped apartment in the city. "When Ms. Yuka gave you to me... She had answered all my prayers. You were a gift, and I couldn't let you go. So when she came back for you a year later, I... I fled. I fled Tokyo and came here to this town to raise you." Her mother inhaled a shaky, rattling breath. "I'm sorry, Mikan. I was selfish."

Mikan withdrew her hand from her mother's, feeling betrayed and hurt. "You still are. You were selfish to keep me, and selfish to just want to die and leave me." Mikan hesitated to call the woman 'mother'. "Why? Why lie to me all this time?" Tears streaming down her eyes uncontrollably, she left the house for the meantime to absorb all the information.

When she returned, her mother had passed away, surrounded with bloodied sheets and discarded pills.

That last image haunted her. She couldn't bear to think of it again; the guilt was just too much. The guilt knowing that she was mad at her 'mother' when she passed away. The guilt of not forgiving and reconciling. The guilt of not being by her side to hear her last words. The woman may not have been her real mother, but at least she cared for her in the best way she could, and at least it made sense now why her 'father' didn't love her at all. To him, she had been a burden, an extra weight to carry, not a daughter and human being.

She felt paralyzed now. She had no foster family, no home—the landlord had taken their home because they hadn't been paying rent—no money, and a lot of debt. If only she could find her real mother—but how? All she knew was her first name, Yuka. And she lived in Tokyo. Right now, Mikan was nowhere near Tokyo—heck, she didn't have any inkling of an idea where that was in Japan—and even if she was able to get there, what were the chances that she would find her biological mother among the millions of faces? Yuka was a very common name, even among the elite.

It was a lost cause. She'd never find her real family.

She had a semblance of a plan, though. Hotaru allowed her to crash in her house for awhile (and even gave Mikan all the skirts and girly blouses she never planned to wear), but she had to find a stable job. That would be near impossible, so perhaps she had to stick with part-time jobs...

"You've been here for two hours."

Mikan's train of thought was halted by this gruff voice she had come to recognize. "Leave me alone."

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm fine."

Natsume hesitated at the gate of the dilapidated cemetery before approaching her. This was his third time to return, and she was still rooted on the same spot in a fetal position.

"My mother wants to talk to you."

"Well, I don't want to talk to her. Leave me alone," she repeated, trying to sound firm, but unfortunately, her voice broke at the end of the sentence. She finally lifted her teary eyes to meet Natsume's jewel-like ones, and he felt a rare compassion for the girl in front of him, who suddenly looked so small. All the optimism and hope he had once seen in her hazel depths were gone, replaced with a profound sadness and brokenness.

"Don't look at me like that," she whispered sharply.

He raised a brow. "What do you mean?"

"You pity me. I don't need your pity."

"I don't pity you," he lied easily. "I was thinking that it's time for you to move on."

Mikan laughed a short, bitter laugh. "Easy for you to say. You're rich, educated, and provided for. You don't need to work a single day in your life and yet, you have everything. You live a perfect life. A torment-free life."

Being rich wasn't always as easy as it looked, but Natsume decided to restrain himself from saying that. She was hurt and confused, that's all—that's why she was saying these things. But what was he thinking, anyway, trying to comfort her? He had always been crap at comforting, because honestly, he'd never cared for anyone enough to comfort them—not that he particularly cared for her, but she was just so pitiful. For the past weeks he'd only seen glimpses of her—in the bakery, by the river, near the trash bins—doing whatever jobs she could, fighting to keep someone alive. But now, she had no one, and he could see that she was lost.

He debated with himself whether he should go or stay, but he didn't have to contemplate on that long when her shaky voice addressed him rhetorically. "Have you ever had your whole life fall apart before? Have you ever felt so confused about who you really are? Have you ever felt that your life was built on a foundation of lies?" She glanced up at him again, her eloquent eyes sad.

He couldn't answer her, but he stayed. He couldn't find himself to walk away when she looked at him like that.

"That's happening to me right now," she continued. "My whole life's unravelling at the seams. I can't just force myself to smile and convince myself that everything's okay, and that life goes on, and that tomorrow will be better, because it's—it's n-not..." She didn't want to cry, much less in front of this stoic, handsome guy, but couldn't help it—fat droplets of tears trickled down her cheeks, and no matter how many times she tried to wipe them away, they still kept on coming.

Natsume inwardly cursed. _This is what I get for trying to be a good person_, he muttered wryly to himself. He had no idea what do when a girl cried. As in, really cried over something substantial—not about a lost Chanel something or a quick breakup. He squatted awkwardly beside her and handed her a crumpled handkerchief.

Mikan, though, took the handkerchief without a second thought. "The only reason why I could smile every morning was because I had a _purpose_," she started sobbing. "When you have a purpose in life, everything else is bearable, but without one, I'm—I'm better off dead..."

For some reason, Natsume was struck by her words. Maybe because of the truth in them. What was his purpose? What did he live for? Was he really living life, or just going through the motions of it? He frowned slightly. Partying, alcohol and girls couldn't be his purpose. Not even college was his purpose, or fame or success or money—he had all of those. When you had everything, it seemed that there was nothing else to work for.

It was at this moment that he noticed Mikan looking at him expectantly. He furrowed his brow in confusion.

"How do you know your purpose, Natsume? What do you live for?"

It must be the way she asked, because the question scared him. It was something not easily answered, even by the most profound philosophers. But as he looked at her tear-stained face filled with desperate hope for his answer, and her tormented, mesmerizing eyes, he felt obliged to say something. "I—I don't know."

Her face fell. She clutched the handkerchief in her hands tighter, willing herself not to cry again.

Natsume sighed and brushed a curly lock out of her face, his fingers gently brushing against her sharp cheekbones. He didn't miss the blush that diffused on her pale complexion. Smirking, he stood from his squatted position before reluctantly holding a hand out to her. "I don't know, but it's not too late to find out, if you start looking."

Mikan looked at him. He was sincere—she could see it in his captivating red eyes—and he was right. For some reason, she didn't expect someone like him to possess such insight and honesty, but he did, and as he held his hand out to her, she felt like she could trust his words.

She smiled a wan yet brave smile. "You're right."

He gave her a little smirk. "I always am."

The moment their hands touched when she placed her small, frail one in his much larger one, he had an epiphany. He now knew his purpose—for the meantime.

He would protect the owner of the hand he held from experiencing more tragedies than she already had. He had no idea how he was going to do it, or if it was even possible, or even exactly why the idea had imprinted itself on his mind. All he knew was that he was determined to do so.

Mikan relished the warmth and firmness of his hand around hers. Though she barely knew him, and though she didn't know why he bothered to be here, he had unknowingly given her the comfort she needed, and the courage to get back on her feet.

"Thank you," she whispered.

* * *

**AN:** _It's so clichéd! -_-" And a bit OOC. Well, hope you liked it though. It's a turn from the previous chapter's light mood. Next chapter—why did Natsume's mother want to see Mikan? :-? Anyway, thanks for the reviews, everyone. You reviewers are the reason why I still post even when I feel like a sucky writer. :) _

_Credits to all the reviewers of Chapter 9: _(my first reviewer for the chapter!)**, Yuri no Kimi, keraii, FeelTheBeat, purescandalous, Cutenatsumexmikan, microbeateria **(haha, I'm glad you've decided to hang on instead of giving up on reading :D)**, Tear Droplet, wowiezowie, blue09, Night's Warrior **(well, er, this chappie answered two of your questions—sorry I had to kill her mother : ehehe)**, thundra18 **(yeah, it is cliché, but I'm glad you still decided to read! God bless you too :D)**, '-' Bianca trish '-', tamahits, singwithme, Kim Janelle, solitaire28 **(aw, thanks so much for that review—I was touched :) )**, sonamy4eva22, Snow Blue, GakuenLover, Kuroichibineko, Kam3910 **_and others I forgot to include...sorry if I forgot o.o _

_All your reviews are encouraging. :D I'm glad someone's still reading this. :) BTW—Advanced Happy Halloween everyone! :D Enjoy the break, and please don't forget to review if you guys want to suggest or correct me or something. :P Til next time, ~NA12~_


	11. Babysitting

**DISCLAIMED**

**A/N: **I used to be NaughtyAngel12. Yes, yes, I know... It's been ages since I've updated. My writing style has changed a lot, but I've still decided to continue (and—*crosses fingers*—finish) this to give the readers closure. If you're reading this whole thing for the first time, I'm sorry that the chapters don't flow very smoothly; the updates between some of them are so long. Maybe in the future I'll re-edit the whole thing according to my current style, but for now I just want to finish it. According to my estimations, there are about six chapters left. Thank you for your support! If you've reviewed, alerted, or favorited this story or moi, here's a hug for you! *HUG*

* * *

**Chapter 10: Babysitting**

"Good afternoon, ma'am. You wanted to talk to me?"

Kaoru Hyuuga looked up from the medical records she was scanning and smiled at the thin, neat-looking girl who had slipped into her office. "Hello, my dear," she said. "Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"

"No thank you," the girl replied with a timid smile. She made her way to the wooden chair in front of her desk. "It's so kind of you to offer, though, Mrs. Hyuuga."

"Call me Kaoru, please," the older woman insisted. "I think we've been through enough to skip those formalities." Kaoru paused to place her hand over Mikan's, her eloquent eyes full of genuine concern. "I'm very sorry for your loss, my dear. I wish I could've done more to save your mother."

"Please don't apologize, Mrs—Kaoru," Mikan replied. "You're the reason why she lasted as long as she did."

"I still feel guilty when I'm not able to save someone, Mikan," Kaoru said. "Especially someone like your mother, who means the world to you. It must've been hard."

She was wrong. It wasn't just _hard_; Mikan felt like she had died along with her mother. But she braved a smile, anyway. With each smile she managed, she felt a little stronger inside. "It is, but I'm coping."

"I'm glad to hear that. Well now, I think you're curious as to why I've asked Natsume to get you for me," Kaoru said, and without waiting for a reply, she continued. "I want to help you, Mikan. I'm sure you're looking for a job now, am I right?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good, because I have a job for you." Kaoru smiled when Mikan's eyes lit up. "You see, my nephew's coming to town; he'll be staying for a week or so while his parents are away on an important trip. Because of his delicate condition, I need someone to look after him. I thought of hiring another maid, but I remembered you and decided that I'd trust you more with my nephew. And I'm sure you've had some experience, too, since your mother was a wet nurse. Of course, I'll be paying you the minimum wage, and you'll be given food and lodging here in the maid's quarters."

Mikan had to suppress a smile. Babysitting was the perfect job, not only because she was good with children, but because it would take her mind off her grief, if only for awhile. "When will I start, Mrs. Hyuuga?"

"He'll be here in five days. But if you're not ready to work yet, I understand..."

"No, I'm ready," she said. Beggars like her couldn't be choosy, after all. "I'll be ready in five days."

**-o-O-o-O-o-**

"What do you mean you'll be working for the Hyuugas?"

Mikan winced at her best friend's deceptively calm tone. It was always bad when Hotaru sounded way too calm—it meant that she was about to explode, and that was never a good thing. "Exactly that. Don't worry, Hotaru-chan, it's only for a month."

"No," she said, her voice hard as steel. "No, baka. I forbid you to work for them. If you become their slave for a week, you'll be their slave for life."

"Isn't that exaggerating it a bit, Hotaru-chan?"

"Mikan." Hotaru's stern tone forced Mikan to look her in the eye. "You can stay here at my home, and I can put you through high school with the extra money I've earned. You don't have to work for them."

"That's really sweet of you, Hotaru-chan," Mikan said, smiling and taking her friend's hands. "But I don't want to impose—"

"You're not imposing. Don't hold my hand, and don't make me repeat what I just said."

"Sorry. It's instinct," Mikan said sheepishly, letting go. "And it's not only that I don't want to impose; I want to feel like I'm needed again. You know how long I've been taking care of my mother, right? Without her, I feel lost. Like I have to do something important, but I've forgotten what it is. I think... I think working as a babysitter can boost my sense of self-worth again. It'll prove a good distraction from my memories, too."

Hotaru was silent for a long time. Finally, she sighed. "So who are you babysitting? The older or younger Hyuuga?"

Mikan laughed. "Neither. It's their four-year-old cousin."

"Alright"—Mikan squealed, and Hotaru had to sidestep to avoid her friend's bearhug—"but if any of them tries to hurt you or take advantage of you, you are quitting that job at once. I don't want you to be there when I blow their house up."

Mikan didn't think Hotaru was joking. Screw that—Hotaru wasn't joking, period. "I don't think that's..."

"Promise me or I'll shoot you."

Mikan promised, but a few moments later she was on the ground, her forehead smarting from the bruise she got from Hotaru's baka gun. "Ow! But I promised already!"

"I was practicing my aim."

"It hurts, Hota—OW!"

"And that was for accepting the job."

"But I was des—OWWW!"

"And that was for accepting a job from the Hyuugas."

Mikan knew that her friend was only worried for her, but she wished that Hotaru was more gentle in showing it.

**-o-O-o-O-o-**

The boy she was to babysit was named Youichi Hijiri. She heard he was picky with his food and that he suffered from asthma, and should be kept away from pollution and dust and flowers so as not to trigger it. Whenever it was triggered, he had to use an inhaler and take medication to ease the inflammation of the airways in his lungs.

Although she had experience dealing with infants and toddlers because of her mother's occupation, she was unsure if she was qualified enough to handle a sick child. She had an inkling of training for first aid which her elementary teacher taught them, but she was out of practice. What if she wasn't able to save Youichi when he had an asthma attack? What if she had administered the wrong medication? What if he died because of her incompetence...?

She shook off the negative thoughts. She just had to make sure then that she'd be well-prepared for his coming.

"I see my mother hired you to take care of my cousin."

She glanced up from the guidelines Mrs. Hyuuga had given her. The younger of the Hyuuga brothers stood a meter from where she sat, smirking with arms crossed. "Yes. I'm eternally grateful to her for this job."

He smiled inwardly. By the end of Youichi's stay, he was almost certain she'd want to murder his mother for making her put up with the little devil.

"Good luck on that."

She beamed. "Thanks. What's he like?"

Natsume's smirk turned ominous. "He's an absolute angel."

Mikan sighed in relief. "Whew. I thought I'd be dealing with one of those spoiled rich kids."

She didn't know how right she was.

**-o-O-o-O-o-**

The loud wailing Mikan heard from the front door alerted her to the arrival of Youichi Hijiri. She immediately left her room downstairs and climbed up to the sitting room, where a little silver-haired boy clung to a beautiful woman dressed in an expensive-looking dress. A man she had never seen before was entertaining them.

"There, there," said the man, crouching before the boy with a bright smile. He had blonde hair and purple eyes, and was wearing a ridiculous tutu with leotards and a frilly top. "Come now, You-chan. Natsume-nii is studying, so he can't come see you, but Narumi-nii will take care of you!"

The little boy cried even harder. For a kid who had asthma, he sure had strong lungs. "I don't like you! Go away!"

"Youichi!" the woman chided gently, prying his little hands off them hem of her dress. "I'm sorry, Narumi. He's very disagreeable when he wakes up from his nap."

The man chuckled. "Not at all. He's very cute, actually."

The boy wailed even louder. "Ugly! You're ugly!"

Mikan raised a brow in surprise just as the woman scolded him again. Never in her life had she heard words like that from any four-year-old—even four-year-olds in the slums with abusive parents.

She was starting to think that Natsume had been fooling her.

"_Youichi! _Be a good boy!"

But Youichi still wouldn't stop crying, so Mikan thought it was time for her to step in. "Um, excuse me," she said timidly. The two adults turned to her with curious expressions, and she tried her best not to let her self-consciousness ruin her introduction. "My name is Sakura Mikan, and I will be Youichi's babysitter for the rest of his stay." She bowed. "I promise to take good care of him, Mrs. Hijiri."

The woman smiled at her. "Bless your heart, Mikan. I'm sorry you have to see him like this. He's normally a well-behaved boy, right, Youichi darling?"

Youichi sniffled again and glanced at Mikan. "Mama, she's ugly!"

Mikan's hands twitched. Was he only really four years old? How had he come to be so mean-spirited already? Now she was sure of it—Natsume had been lying to her. That jerk...

Instead of scolding him this time, Mrs. Hijiri knelt down before him, her voluminous skirt pooling about her, until she was eye-level with him. She then whispered a few words in his ear. Whatever she said must have incited some fear in Youichi, because he immediately quieted down and let go of her skirt.

She smiled brightly at Mikan and Narumi, satisfied at taming her son. "Well, it's time for me to go. Is Kaoru around?"

"She's working right now, Mrs. Hijiri," Narumi replied. "Mr. Hyuuga is out as well."

"That's a shame. Tell them I send my greetings." She then turned to her son again and smiled. "I have to go now, darling. Promise Mama you'll be a good boy."

"I promise to be a good boy," he parroted.

"Good." She planted a kiss on her forehead, and in that moment Mikan had to hold back her tears because she remembered herself when she was younger. She realized that her mother was no longer around to scold and kiss her like that again. "I leave him in your care. Goodbye!"

"Goodbye, Mrs. Hijiri," she said, bowing again, both to show respect and to hide the tears burning in her eyes. When she looked up, Mrs. Hijiri was being escorted by the strange man to the door, and Youichi's back was stubbornly turned to her.

Well, it was time to get to work.

"Hello, Youichi," she said, coming up to him with her warmest smile. "My name is Mikan. You can call me Mikan-nee, if you like."

He didn't even _look _at her. (The nerve of the brat.) "I don't like you."

"Oh? Why not?"

"You're a hag."

Mikan stared. "I'm a _what_?"

"Don't worry, he's always like that." The strange man approached them, smiling. "Since Natsume took this little cutie under his wing, he's been following all his footsteps."

"I'm not a cutie."

"Of course you are, You-chan," he said brightly. Then, turning to Mikan, he said, "Your name is Mikan, right?"

She nodded meekly in response.

"Call me Narumi. I'm Natsume's English tutor—oh! Speaking of, I forgot I left him in the middle of his poem recitation... Well, I have to run. Toodles, Mikan!"

Mikan gaped at him as he practically danced his way out the door. She couldn't seem to form an image of a guy like _that _in the same room as Natsume.

"Fag."

Right. She still had this little devil to tame. "Youichi, it's bad to say things like that..."

"But Natsume-nii says that."

Mikan suppressed an exasperated sigh, mentally noting that she should give that jerk a scolding later on what he's saying in front of little children. She placed her hands on Youichi's tiny shoulders and squatted so that she was eye-level with him, but he still averted his gaze from hers. "Well, Natsume's bad for saying things like that. You shouldn't follow him."

"And I won't follow you."

"Look, Youichi—ow!" Youichi had suddenly yanked her hair, and while she momentarily removed her hands from his shoulders to massage her scalp, he took the opportunity to run from her. Mikan was on her feet in a second. "Youichi! Come back here! Don't run too much; you might have an asthma attack...!"

He ran faster in response. "Don't follow me, hag!"

It was going to be a _very _long day.

**-o-O-o-O-o-**

**Six hours later**

"_She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies. And all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes_—"

"No, no! Natsume, it's all wrong! Your enunciation, emphasis, emotion, and cadence are _all _wrong!" Narumi sighed dramatically, putting a palm to his head in woe. "You do Lord Byron no justice. Here, let me show you how to read it." He cleared his throat.

"_She walks in beauty, like the night_

_Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_

_And all that's best of dark and bright_

_Meet in her aspect and her eyes..."_

After Narumi had recited the whole poem, he turned to Natsume and nodded. "Alright, try it again."

"But I hate this poem. Why can't we do Cummings's _A Leaf Falls on Loneliness_?"

"Because that poem has only one line, and because it's not meant to be read aloud. Now, Natsume, do it again. _She walks in beauty..._"

"I want a break."

"Not until you recite it perfectly."

Natsume glared at him. "I want a break. Besides, it's almost time for you to leave."

"It is?" Narumi glanced at his watch. "Oh, it is! Well, we'll just have to review this some other time. But I expect you to recite it perfectly by then."

"Whatever."

"I can fail you, Natsume."

He sneered. "No one cares if I fail because I can't read a poem like a drama queen."

"Well, _I _do."

"You don't count."

"I want that poem read 'like a drama queen', as you put it, when I return."

"I won't do it."

"Now that's the spirit!" Narumi grinned. "I'll see you in a few, my darling student. Goodbyeee!"

When he was finally gone, Natsume breathed a sigh of relief. "What a nutcase," he muttered. He could handle whatever article, screenplay, short story, novel, or essay that Narumi gave him, but he could never handle poems. Poems were sickening. Love poems even more so.

Natsume stood from his chair, stretched, and made his way downstairs, hoping to find some snacks—and maybe some beer—in the fridge downstairs to wash all that mush out of his system. But, when he reached the kitchen, something suddenly came hurtling at him; he had to hold on to the door frame to keep from falling over.

"What the—oh, Youichi. Hey, kid."

"Natsume-nii!" The little boy looked up at him with adoring eyes. "The witch won't leave me alone!"

His lips curved into an amused smirk. "Which witch?"

"Her!"

As if on cue, Mikan burst out of the living room, her cheeks puffed out and her mood murderous—or it could've been murderous if not for her appearance. She was covered in flour from head-to-toe, as if someone had exploded a sack of it right in front of her, and she had ketchup and chocolate smears all over her clothes and face.

He grinned at her.

"You shut up," she hissed.

"But I haven't said anything."

"Your face said it all. Now hand over the kid."

Youichi clutched Natsume's leg in fear. "Natsume-nii! Witch!"

"Right," Natsume gathered the boy up in his arms. "I'll take care of this."

Youichi stuck his tongue out at Mikan before burying his head into Natsume's shirt.

He was fast asleep in seconds.

"I'd _never_," Mikan muttered, crossing her arms with a huff. "Why did your mother hire me when _you _can do the babysitting?"

"She thinks of me as the back-up babysitter," he said with a lazy smirk. "In case of emergencies, you know."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Very much, thank you. But I think I'd enjoy it more if you'd tell me how you got yourself in that state."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You are _such _a jerk."

"I'm flattered."

"And why did you teach Youichi those words?"

He feigned innocence. "What words?"

"_Ugh_. Never mind. Why do I even bother..."

"Indeed." He drew closer to her, daring her to step away from him with his mocking smile, but she stood her ground and stubbornly held his gaze. "I think," he said, swiping his thumb at the leftover chocolate on her cheek and licking it clean, "you should be more bothered by your appearance now."

There was something sensual about his gesture that made her face heat up, but fortunately he didn't tease her for it because the flour camouflaged her blush. "I don't have to look good for you."

"You would at least like to look presentable for my mother," he drawled. "Who will, in fact, be home in... about five minutes."

"_Five _minutes?" she repeated, horrified.

"No. Four, actually."

She was sprinting down the hallway before he even finished his sentence, and he watched her, amused, as she tripped a few times on Youichi's toys on the way to the maid's quarters.

"Getting attached to some street rat, aren't we?"

The smile immediately left Natsume's face. "Shut up," he snarled.

"You know Father would never approve, little brother."

The retort Natsume would have countered with drowned in his throat when the full weight of his brother's words set in. Of course, he knew that his father would never approve of him even conversing with the likes of her, but it never bothered him because he never conversed with the likes of her, anyway. Until she came along, that is. He was even doubtful of his mother's approval, because even if she was open-minded, she'd want him to marry well.

Wait—marry? Did he just indirectly consider _her _as someone he'd want to _marry_?

No, it was impossible. He would never marry someone of her status. Besides, what he felt for her now was nothing more than amusement.

"You look shaken, little brother." Daisuke came out of the kitchen holding two bottles of beer in one hand. He was gulping a bottle down with the other. "Beer?"

"Isn't it too early to get drunk?" Natsume carefully put on a blank expression. "Even for you, brother."

Daisuke shrugged and made his way back upstairs. "It's never too early for a drink, unless you can't hold your alcohol well."

Natsume ignored the jab. He ignored his brother altogether, and tried his best to ignore the dull ache in his chest that started after his brother's earliest statements.

* * *

**A/N: **The poem I used here is entitled "She Walks in Beauty" by Lord Byron. Please leave a review. I accept constructive criticism. =)


	12. Superhero

**A/N: **Thank you for those who reviewed the previous chapter: **Leben Eve Selena Jonze, HappyBlossom, BloodyFantasy **and **anim3gurl.** Your reviews kept me going, so this chapter is for you. =) Thanks to all those who favorited/alerted, too. I hope I can prove with this update that I'm not planning to disappear soon again. =) Take note of the rating, by the way – there will be some violence in this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Superhero**

"Gotcha!"

Mikan grinned and pushed the curtains aside, but her smile faltered when she didn't find what—or who—she was looking for.

She frowned and crossed her arms. "I could've sworn I saw these curtains rustle..." she muttered to herself. She pushed the curtains aside again and even looked outside the window to the balcony, but still no sign of Youichi Hijiri.

She groaned. She knew it had been a bad idea to play hide-and-seek with Youichi Hijiri, because 1. the Hyuuga mansion was huge; 2. he was a brat; 3. he never let her do the hiding; 4. she always had to count up to a hundred before starting to seek; and finally, 5. the Hyuuga mansion was _huge_. It was as big as those mansions she only read about in storybooks. After the head maid toured her around, she discovered that it even had a library, a large room used for parties and celebrations, four storage rooms, five guest rooms, and seven bedrooms, among others. It didn't look as large from the outside, but once she explored the hallways and stairways and rooms inside, she felt like she was walking in a boarding house, not the home of a family of four.

So far she had finished searching the second floor of the east side of the house, where the three bedrooms and two guestrooms were. She had started with that because Youichi was most familiar with it (the master bedroom, Natsume's room and his room were there), but she couldn't find him. She tried waiting him out, but it's been an hour, and he probably switched hiding places a few times already. She knew that he'd rather wait inside a hot, stuffy place than reveal himself to her too soon.

She stopped to consider her options. He wouldn't hide on the first floor since there were a lot of people working down there, and he'd probably think that they'd give him away when they saw him sneaking around. He wouldn't hide in the library, either, because he had mentioned to Natsume that the library scared him. The garden was out of question, too; Youichi was allergic to pollen, and Natsume had already warned him many times not to enter the garden.

That left the west side of the house, with the three other bedrooms, one guestroom, and one storage room. The storage room and the guestroom were locked, so that left her with the three vacant bedrooms.

She smiled. Victory was close at hand.

She opened the door to the first bedroom, but just a small crack first, so that she could make sure that no one was inside. There seemed to be no one; the room was dark and the air was stale—as if it had been left unused for a long time—and a thick layer of dust was visible on the furniture in the room. But after a quick inspection, Mikan concluded that Youichi couldn't have stayed in here for very long; he was allergic to dust and would've started sneezing the moment he entered the room. She quietly closed the door to that bedroom and proceeded to the next one.

The second bedroom was empty, too, but unlike the first one, it was immaculate. Someone had obviously cleaned this room recently. The bed was made up; the sheets looked new; the furniture was polished; and the glass figurines on display glittered when the sun's rays hit it. Mikan couldn't understand why this room was clean and the other was neglected—were the Hyuugas receiving a lot of guests tonight that not even five guest rooms would fit them?—but it wasn't her business anyway, so she didn't mull over it. She had to concentrate on finding Youichi.

She was about to start off her search by looking into the cabinets when a slight movement on the couch caught her eye. Puzzled, she slowly walked up to it, and noticed that there was a lump under the blanket thrown over the couch.

She grinned. That kid was very clever, hiding under a black blanket on a black couch, but it wasn't clever enough to escape her notice.

She poised herself right over the lump and grabbed the blanket with both hands. Then, she yanked as hard as she could.

"Boo!"

Only instead of staring into the wide blue-gray eyes of Youichi Hijiri, she found herself looking right at the angry red ones of the eldest Hyuuga.

Before her brain could process an excuse or an apology for her stupid mistake, he had her pinned down on the couch beneath him, her wrists held above her head by a grip so strong that she could already feel them bruising. His other hand was pressed tightly over her mouth so that she could neither open it to scream or bite him.

Vaguely she remembered Natsume displaying some skill in martial arts, and she concluded that they must've been taught how to fight and defend themselves by a professional.

Her blood ran cold. That wasn't good.

"Oh, it's _you_," he said, his smile malicious and his breath smelling faintly of alcohol. "Little brother's plaything."

_I am no one's plaything_, she wanted to say, but instead it came out as a feeble whimper. She tried kicking at him with her legs, but she found that they were tangled up in the blanket that she had tugged off him earlier, probably when he pushed her down and straddled her on the couch.

Panic rose in her. She was stuck.

"Actually, you don't look too bad for a street whore." He leaned in closer to her, his red eyes glazed with lust or intoxication—she couldn't tell—but she immediately jerked her head to the side and squirmed, trying to loosen his grip on her. _I'M NOT A WHORE_, she wanted to scream, but that only came out as a strangled "Mmmmpf!"

"Come to think of it, I didn't bed anyone last night," he whispered, bringing his lips close to her neck so that she could feel every word he breathed on her skin. She shuddered, but she didn't know if it was because of his suffocating closeness to her or the implications of what he said. "But you'll have to do for now."

_No, _she thought. _NO! _She thrashed about, willing herself to fall to the ground and bring him with her, and though he saw through her tactics immediately, he did nothing to stop her. He just pressed his lips onto the skin of her neck, saying, "If you stop struggling, this will be over sooner."

It burned. The place where his lips had touched burned. She felt dirty all of a sudden—dirtier even than the time that she had jumped into the waste-filled creek to save Hotaru from drowning.

She couldn't do anything to stop him. She was utterly at his mercy, and as his lips worked their way down to her collarbone and the top of her cleavage, she shut her eyes and willed herself not to cry. _Happy moments, _she told herself over and over, _think of your happy moments_.

She thought of her mother, of the times when she brushed her hair and told her bedtime stories that she knew from the heart; she thought of the little children she cared for greeting her good morning; she thought of the days when she was still at school, when the teacher complimented her often for being so bright; she thought of Natsume saving her that day—

Wait, why was Natsume saving her one of her happy moments? He wasn't supposed to be in her thoughts at this time, especially since the _animal_ violating her looked uncannily like him. But she knew deep down that the two brothers were completely different people. The other, she knew, would never hurt her like this, but if only he would save her again...

That was impossible, though. The west side of the house was deserted, and he was studying down at the library.

In short, she was doomed.

She kept her eyes shut as he ripped the buttons off her shirt with his teeth, one by one, and willed herself to think of a happy moment again. But for some reason, her mind could no longer conjure up happy moments. She was trapped in the present; she felt like worms were crawling up her skin, and she dared not open her eyes because her reality was far worse than that.

And then, as she was just about to give up, the weight pressed over her mouth lifted and moved down to the hem of her pants. But that wasn't what mattered—what mattered was that her mouth was free. So she took a greedy lungful of air and screamed like she never had before.

He shut her up immediately with a kiss that drew blood. She could taste the metallic tang of it on her tongue; she could taste the booze on his breath, and it was all she could do to stop herself from hurling. "Crazy bitch," he hissed when he pulled back, his eyes so wild and so red that he looked like a monster. "If you don't shut up and stop moving I _will_ give you hell." She believed he could, and even before she could catch her breath, his mouth was on hers again in another bruising kiss, and his free hand was tugging her pants down.

She finally decided to stop squirming, because her futile attempts to escape his grasp only egged him on. She hoped someone would come soon, but she heard no footfalls running up the stairs or through the hallways. How could they have not heard her? The door was and the windows were all open; someone must've heard her. _Someone. Anyone..._

And then, as if her silent plea had been shouted out loud, something suddenly came flying at Daisuke's temple and shattered, raining glass shards on them both. "Fuck!" he yelled. In his surprise, his grip on her wrists had loosened, and she took the opportunity to yank her hands out of his grasp. She then shoved him off her with all her might and he crashed onto the glass coffee table in front of the couch.

"Mikan-nee!" a little voice shrilled. Mikan whipped her head around and (finally) found Youichi standing a few meters from her, a glass figurine in his left hand. His wide, worried eyes were darting between her dishevelled state and Daisuke's bloody one, horrified at what he had stumbled upon and what he had just done to his cousin.

"Youichi!" She untangled herself from the blanket and pulled her pants up hastily before sprinting to him, spitting out the glass shards in her mouth as she did. "Come here, it'll be okay. I'm okay. We're okay. We'll be fine," she blathered on. "We'll be okay." She hauled him onto her shoulders with the extra adrenaline coursing through her veins and ran out the room, the blood pounding in her ears, Youichi's tears dripping onto her hair, and his sobs echoing down the hall.

**-o-O-o-O-o-**

Mikan collapsed at the foot of the stairs. She carefully lifted Youichi from her shoulders and placed him on the marble floor in front of her. The act itself made her arms shake from so much effort since the adrenaline was gone, and she wondered how she even managed to get here without fainting. It was a miracle, really.

"Shh," she said to him as she stroked his hair. "It's okay, Youichi. We're okay now. You were so brave back there, just like a superhero. Shh, stop crying. Shh..."

"Oh my!" The head maid, a motherly figure that everyone under her addressed as Maho, exclaimed as she approached them with a basket of laundry in her arms. "Oh my!" This time she dropped the laundry and approached them as quickly as she could in her stuffy maid's uniform, her eyes bugging out of her sockets. "What happened?"

"I—" Mikan tried to form the words, but her mind still wasn't functioning properly, especially since her head was filled with the sound of Youichi's sobs, and her nose was stinging from the scent of alcohol, and her skin was crawling with worms. "I need—I—bath," she managed. "I need a bath."

"Oh my." Maho looked completely frazzled, and her repetitive exclamations of 'oh my' were drawing the attention of the other maids and servant boys—especially the servant boys, since Mikan's top was still unbuttoned all the way and her pants were falling off her hips—but Mikan couldn't care less even as they started to cluster around her with whispers of "What happened to her? Is she okay? Is that blood on her face? Why is she bleeding?"

"Oh my," Maho breathed again. "Alright, Yumi, you take care of Youichi first. Bring him to his room and let him have a nice nap." A young maid stepped forward and gathered the little boy in her arms, who was still sobbing too hard to protest. "Now, everyone, get back to work! I'll han—"

"What the hell is going on here?"

Dead silence (save for the crying of Youichi) fell as the younger Hyuuga's voice reverberated in the room. The little crowd of servants reverently scrambled out of his way to make a clear path from where he was to where the center of the commotion was. When he saw the state she was in, he immediately narrowed his eyes at everyone. "Well, you heard her. Get back to work or I'll fire you all. Including you, Maho."

Everyone else was already scattering before he even finished his threat, save for Maho. "But she is in need of—"

"I said, including _you_, Maho."

She was off in a fraction of a second.

After all the servants left the common room, Natsume looked at her again and saw her visibly flinch when he did. With each step he took towards her she seemed to draw back just a little each time, and by the time he reached out to touch her, she was shielding her body from him with her arms, her eyes wide with fear.

And then, she said something so softly that he almost didn't catch it.

"-ster..."

_Monster. _It was those eyes—the angry red eyes of a monster. He was approaching her. She could feel the worms crawling all over her skin again; could feel the bruising grip of his hand; could smell the blood and booze on his breath. _Daisuke. Monster. _

"Mikan," he said, and he lowered his voice so that he wouldn't scare her too much, although it already looked like he did. "It's me, Natsume. What happened?"

"Natsume," she repeated, her eyes coming back to focus, her mind reordering its thoughts. _Natsume. _It was a good name. It was a name that meant _safe_. She was safe with him. "Natsume."

When she finally let her arms fall limp to her sides, he enveloped her in his arms, and she promptly burst into tears. He rubbed her back in rhythmic motions, hoping to calm her down, but she only cried harder; she bunched up the fabric of his shirt in her hands so tightly that he felt like it would rip.

"What happened?" he asked again, but all he got as a reply was her shaking and sobbing. He sighed and drew her an arm's length away from him, careful to keep his eyes trained on hers. He then took one of her curled fists and gently willed them to uncurl, but as she did so, he froze.

Her wrists. Blue and bruised.

His eyes narrowed. He put a hand under her chin and angled it towards the light. Her lips, too. Cut and bleeding.

"It was Daisuke, wasn't it?"

She nodded dumbly, wondering why he had immediately singled his brother out among all the males in their household.

"Where is he?" He stood abruptly, his voice measured and deathly calm. "I'll kill him..."

His eyes. Angry, red eyes. Before she knew what she was doing, she placed her hand on his. "No. Please don't look like that. It's scary."

His gaze softened. "Did he..."

"No." She immediately shook her head. "No. He didn't go that far."

"He still shouldn't have gone _this _far."

"It's okay. I'm okay. Just a little shocked."

"Yeah, not to mentioned bruised and bleeding," he added with a roll of his eyes. "Do you not understand? He almost _raped_ you, you idiot. He could go to jail for this."

"I know," she said. "But please, just stay."

He knew he was a goner when she looked at him like that. The moment he hugged her, he knew he was already in too deep. He should've just let Maho treat her, but he couldn't bring himself to leave her like this, not even when he wanted to strangle his brother and beat himself up for not coming to her sooner.

Something was wrong with him. Every moment he spent around her made him suspect that he was either becoming nicer or becoming insane or _both_, which wasn't a good thing at all, because he wasn't normally nice or insane.

And honestly, this scared him.

Her cold, shaking hand tugging him down brought him back to his senses. She was still looking at him with her pleading brown eyes.

He finally relented. _I'll stay._ _Maybe just this once_. "We'll have to fix you up before Mother comes home." He knelt down in front of her and held the flaps of her blouse close. She grasped the front of her blouse after him, realizing suddenly that she was still sort of half-naked, and blushed a deep red.

He smirked as she shakily zipped her pants up. "I didn't know you were the polka-dots type."

She glared at him. "Oh, shut up, you perv." But she didn't object when he helped her onto his back so he could carry her up the stairs. It felt kind of good, actually, to have someone look after her. But she wished he wasn't so strong and handsome and gentle all at the same time, because that made it easier for her to fall for him.

She felt a pang in her chest. She couldn't fall for him—it was dangerous. It was forbidden. Because he would never be hers, after all.

**-o-O-o-O-o-**

"How's Youichi?"

While Mikan had been taking a much-needed bath, Natsume had checked on Youichi. Fortunately, his little cousin was unhurt, but unfortunately, he was also asleep, so Natsume couldn't coax the story of what happened out of him. He didn't think it would be a good idea to ask Mikan now, either, because she might cry again, and her tears weren't something he could handle without feeling like a wimp.

So he decided to keep quiet thirty minutes later, when she was seated on his toilet bowl in his bathroom, freshly showered and with a new set of clothes on. Maybe he'd get the story from Daisuke himself sometime.

"He's asleep," he replied, taking a tube of what looked like ashes out of the medicine cabinet and a bottle of nasty-smelling ointment. He took a whiff of both, wrinkled his nose, and then turned to face her. "Found it."

"Those things?" she asked. "They smell horrible."

"Yeah, well, they're Chinese herbal medicines."

"Are you sure they're not expired?"

"I can't tell. I can't read Chinese."

She gasped in horror.

"I was kidding, Polka," he drawled. "Lighten up."

"I told you not to call me that," she snapped, frowning. "I have a name, you know."

"Sure, Polka."

"I wish I could find a humiliating nickname for you too," she muttered.

"You can call me handsome."

"In your dreams."

She acted like she was exasperated, but she couldn't hide the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. He found it weird that she had recovered from the shock of what just happened so easily, judging from the playfulness in her tone now, but then again it could just be a defense mechanism. It was still weird, though. If he was in her shoes, his defense mechanism after being assaulted by some drunk ass definitely wouldn't be talking and smiling.

"Open your mouth."

"You're going to make me swallow that stuff?"

"No, I'll just dab some on the wounds. If you swallow it you'll die."

"Seriously?"

"Really, Polka, you're too gullible."

She made a frustrated noise. "Gimme a break. You could be poisoning me, for all I know."

"Now why would I do that?"

"Um, because you're insane?"

"Just insanely handsome."

"You—_ugh._ I think I'll shut up now and take that poison."

"Glad to hear it."

She finally did stop talking, but she left her mouth open. He sprinkled some of the ash-like medicine onto the cuts.

"Done."

"It's really bitter."

"That means it's good medicine."

"That means it's expired."

"Well, we can't reverse the damage now, can we?"

"You're despicable."

"You could look a little more grateful."

She smiled and said through her teeth, "You're despicable."

"You're welcome." He unscrewed the cap of the other bottle. "Now hold out your wrists."

"What's that?"

"It's an ointment for bruises."

She obediently held her wrists out and he massaged some of the foul-smelling ointment on the blue bruises. With this ointment and the powder Natsume had sprinkled on the wounds in her mouth, she wondered what she'd smell like once she got out of the bathroom. "Do all Chinese medicines smell horrible?"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"I did awhile ago."

"For, like, ten seconds."

"Geez, I'm just trying to make conversation," she pouted. "You're such a grouch."

"I've been called worse."

"Somehow, I believe you."

After a few minutes, he said, "Alright, done. You just have to apply this powdery stuff before going to sleep, and this ointment every six hours." He handed her the medicine.

She took them a little hesitantly, not knowing if she could repay him for these, but he sensed her reluctance and said, "You can have it. Mother keeps boxes of that in the attic."

Mikan looked up at him. _Why is he being so nice to me? _She didn't know if he was normally like this to everyone, but she would like to think so, because she didn't want to get her hopes up by believing that he was only nice to her. But a small, selfish part of her heart wanted—and enjoyed—his attention. It was so wrong, but she wanted it so badly that her heart clenched whenever she thought of it.

"Thank you," she said, but he didn't seem to hear her. He was brushing a lock of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. His fingers moved to trace her jaw before stopping at her chin, and he let his touch linger there for awhile. His eyes were locked on hers in an intense gaze that made her feel like sheactually _mattered _to him.

She dared not move or breathe. She wished that they were back to insulting each other, because her heart could handle that; now, with him so close and his expression so unreadable, she felt it would burst from all the tension.

Finally he looked away, and the spell was broken. Mikan looked away as well to hide the disappointment that she knew was etched onto her features. "I have to go back to the library," he mumbled. "I missed an hour of English."

"Okay. Sorry for disturbing you," she said, but he had already left.

She had to go check on Youichi now, but she stayed for a few more minutes in his bathroom with her eyes closed, trying to make that moment last for just a little while longer.


	13. She Walks in Beauty

**Disclaimer: I don't own Gakuen Alice or the poem I used, "She Walks in Beauty", by Lord Byron.**

**A/N: **Thanks for all your reviews! They really cheer me up. So anyway, Chapter 12. Warnings: a little OOC-ness, but not too much. Hope you enjoy. =)

* * *

**Chapter 12: She Walks in Beauty**

"Ruka, Imai." Natsume masked his incredulity with a devilish smile at the odd pair who entered his drawing room. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Imai cut in before Ruka could speak. "First of all, Hyuuga, I take no pleasure in visiting people. Secondly, I am not visiting _you. _Now where is Mikan Sakura?"

Alarm bells went off in Natsume's head. Mikan had warned him that something like this would happen. Thankfully, they had prepared an escape plan this morning, but he wasn't too sure if it was Imai-proof.

The plan was simple, actually. When Imai arrived, Natsume would send a maid to call Mikan. That was her cue to apply the concealer he had stolen from his mother on the visible cuts and yellowing bruises that couldn't be explained away as a mere accident, and while she did that, he would (gag) entertain Imai to stall for time. He didn't really like the idea of speaking to Imai for more than five minutes, but he disliked the idea of his house being blown to pieces more. And yes, he knew Imai wasn't below that.

"I'll get someone to call her," he said dismissively. "So, Ruka, I didn't know that you and Imai..."

Ruka flushed immediately. "We're not—"

"I asked him to accompany me to get through your security guard," Imai deadpanned. "I wasn't aware that I'm no longer allowed in your house, Hyuuga."

Natsume coughed. "He's new. Didn't recognize you, most likely."

She clearly wasn't buying it, but thankfully she didn't push the subject. She resumed to fiddling her Baka Gun. Natsume kept a close eye on her to make sure she didn't pull the trigger, as it was aimed at him.

"So, Natsume," Ruka said. "How long will Youichi be staying with you?"

He shrugged. "Maybe a week, depending on when his parents come to get him. They might stay longer, though, for Mother's birthday."

"A week only? He usually stays longer," Ruka said thoughtfully. "But it's the first time your mother hired someone, right?"

Imai's eyes were on Natsume in a second, narrowed in suspicion. He pretended not to notice the way her fingers were now poised on the trigger. _Crap. _What was taking Mikan so long?

"Well," he said, "yeah, but we're understaffed lately. Besides, my mother's taken a strange liking to that girl."

Ruka chuckled, oblivious to Hotaru's deathly aura. "She suddenly had the urge to be charitable?"

"You know her. She's an impulsive person."

Before Imai could successfully bore a hole in his head with her glares, Mikan came dashing down the stairs. He scowled. _Finally. _She had done a good job of concealing her cuts and bruises, too—Imai would never suspect anything. He'd have to thank the inventor of concealers one day.

"Hotaru!" Mikan squealed, skipping all the formalities and opening her arms wide for a hug.

_That girl will die young_, Natsume thought wryly as Imai hit Mikan with the nozzle of her gun. He still couldn't fathom how they could be friends. Aside from the fact that they had vastly different personalities, they were also from different classes of society—the Imais, though not as wealthy as either the Hyuugas or Nogis, were still considerably so in their own right. Imai didn't even befriend _rich _people if she didn't think they were valuable connections, and Mikan was neither rich nor well-connected; she barely had enough money to buy food, and her family background was questionable at best.

It made Natsume wonder idly if the phrase "opposites attract" was truer than he gave it credit for.

**-o-O-o-O-o-**

"_She walks in beauty—"_

"Again."

"_She walks in—"_

"Again."

"_She wa—"_

"Again."

"Dammit."

"Natsume, I don't think that's part of the poem."

"Because it isn't, _Narumi_," Natsume gritted out, slamming his copy on the table.

"My, my. No need to be so violent now, Natsume."

"Are we done yet?"

"We'll wrap up once you've finished reciting the poem."

"We would've wrapped up an hour ago if you'd just _let_ me finish it."

Narumi sighed. "Natsume," he said carefully, "have you ever been in love?"

Natsume was immediately wary. He hoped this wasn't Narumi's way of confessing. "Why the hell should I tell you?"

"The poem," said Narumi, "can be properly read by any man who has loved or at least admired the beauty of a woman."

"I know a beautiful woman when I see one," Natsume sneered. "I don't need to read a poem to tell me that."

"This poem is not telling you how to distinguish a beautiful woman from an ugly one," Narumi said. "It's telling you how the persona sees the woman he's in love with; how he defies traditional beauty in their time by comparing her to the night rather than the day and by making her hair dark instead of fair. To him, she's both light and dark, beautiful and pure, innocent and—"

"Time's up."

Narumi blinked, his lips and hands still poised to say the next word. Then he looked at his watch and nearly leapt out of his seat. "Oh, dear me, look at the time! Well, I should be going. Remember what I said, Natsume. I won't write you a good college recommendation for you if you can't recite that poem well."

"I don't need _you _to write my recommendation."

"There's my favorite student! Toodles!"

Natsume rubbed his temples like doing so would erase all that trash Narumi had just drilled into him. He scoffed. Really, how did love come into the picture anyway? As far as Natsume could tell, all the author was feeling was a crush. They probably didn't have that word then, but he was sure that a lot of love poems would be wiped out from the face of the earth if people back then could only tell the difference between being in love and being in lust and being in crush.

But Narumi's question bothered him more than he wanted to admit, mostly because he had no answer for it. How _can_ you tell if you were in love with someone? Is a rush of emotion enough to justify that you're in love? Because, heck, he'd had a lot of _that _from the many girls he'd been with, but he was pretty sure that he never felt love for any of them. It was likely lust and maybe affection, but not love. Definitely not love.

Natsume was still puzzling over this concept when he went to check on Youichi and _her_, though he still wouldn't admit it to himself.

Youichi was fast asleep, as he usually was after eating an early dinner, and Mikan was out on the balcony reading a book, probably one from his library. She could never afford one on her own.

"I didn't know you could read, Polka," he said, coming up next to her.

She tore her eyes away from the book and stared blankly up at him, her eyes glassy.

He took a step back. He knew that look—he had broken up with enough girls to know that that was what they looked like before they were going to cry. "Uh," he said, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden and wondering if his comment had really offended her so, "do you want me to leave you alone?"

She blinked once, and two teardrops trailed down her face. The haze had cleared from her eyes. "Oh... Is Youichi awake already?"

"No." Natsume paused as she wiped her tears away. "Are you—did Daisuke...?"

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "I... I remembered my mother—my foster mother—just now. She'll love the view of the stars from here." She looked up at the night sky as if searching for something—perhaps a sign—and she probably didn't find it, because she sighed, her gaze falling back to the book on her lap.

"I'm sorry," he said automatically.

"It's not your fault," she murmured, looking up at the sky again. On instinct, he looked up as well, and noticed that the stars really _were _beautiful from this balcony, like abundant silver glitter on black paper. Strange how he never noticed. "It's weird, you know," she breathed. "It's weird losing someone you love. When they die, you feel you can't possibly feel worse, but when the initial shock passes and it really sinks in, you do. You'll be reminded in the waking moments of your life that that person has died, and that they're not coming back. It's like there's a void where they once were—they won't be there greet you in the mornings or kiss you in at night or hold your hand when you're scared. They're just _gone_."

Natsume wanted very badly to melt in the shadows. It wasn't as if she was really talking to him, anyway, but something stopped him from leaving. It wasn't that she looked pathetic there, or that she looked like she needed someone to talk to. It was something else, something that he couldn't quite grasp yet...

"The worst part is not watching someone you love die," she whispered, now mostly to herself. "It's going on with your life as if they were never there."

"But they are," Natsume said, surprised at the tone of his voice. "Your mother still is. You're moving on but still remembering her. You're looking at the stars as if she's beside you, and you're working a job she loved to do."

Mikan seemed as surprised as he was with himself, and he wondered if he should've kept his mouth shut. But, to his even greater surprise, she laughed. "That rhymed," she said, eyes twinkling. "My mo—foster mother loved to teach me rhymes when I was small. She couldn't read, but she recited every nursery rhyme she knew from heart, so I wouldn't go to school dumber than the other kids. Turned out that the only edge I had against them was rhyming."

He glanced at the title of the book she was reading—_An Anthology of 19__th__ Century Poems_—and smirked. So she was a romantic. "You love poetry, then?"

"More than anything," she said with a smile. It was a warm, genuine smile that made his heart clench—and, suddenly, he knew. He knew why he couldn't leave her. He knew why he cared for her well-being so much; he knew why he had, from the start, been drawn to her. It was because she was different. Even her beauty was different; her face may be streaked with tears now, but he was still entranced by her. Bathed in moonlight and sadness and quiet strength, she was more beautiful than any other girl could strive to be with layers of make-up and scant clothing.

_She walks in beauty, like the night..._

"What did you say?" she cocked her head at him, and he realized he had just said it aloud.

"She Walks in Beauty," he repeated. He then added, "by Lord Byron. Ever heard of it?"

She pursed her lips and glanced at the book on her lap. "I might've encountered it here—"

Before she could open it to the page she was looking for, his hands were already on hers, guiding them to shut the book. Startled, she looked at him with a question on her lips, but was rendered speechless by his proximity to her and the way his red, red eyes glittered like rubies in the night. "Let me tell it to you," he said.

She swallowed and nodded slowly. "This better be good," she tried to joke, but her voice nearly failed her. He knelt before her so he was on eye level with her, and he looked so handsome in the moonlight, the shadows accentuating his rugged features, dark hair and jewel-like eyes, that it was a struggle for her to breathe. Her heart wasn't helping her with that, either.

"_She walks in beauty, like the night / Of cloudless climes and starry skies; / And all that's best of dark and bright / Meet in her aspect and her eyes: / Thus mellow'd to that tender light / Which heaven to gaudy day denies." _Cautiously, he ran his hands up her arms and shoulders—feeling her shiver at his touch—before he cupped her face and used his thumbs to wipe away the tears that remained. _"One shade the more, one ray the less, / Had half impair'd the nameless grace / Which waves in every raven tress, / Or softly lightens o'er her face; / Where thoughts serenely sweet express / How pure, how dear their dwelling-place."_

If only Narumi could hear him now. As much as Natsume hated to admit, he never would have memorized this poem if not for Narumi's insistence at always repeating it. And that nutty teacher of his was right all along—any man who at least admired the beauty of a woman like the one before him could read that poem with proper feeling. How could he have missed it before—that _she _was the one this poem was personifying all along? Who else could be both dark and bright and still be beautiful? Who else could give others warmth with just the light of her smile? Who else could have experienced so much tragedy and yet remain so lovely?

"_And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, / So soft, so calm, yet so eloquent," _he said, his pitch lower as he pulled her to stand with him. They were so close now that their noses touched; she could count the lashes on his lids and feel his breath on her lips, and she felt so overwhelmed that she had to place her hands on his chest to steady herself. "_The smiles that win, the tints that glow, / But tell of days in goodness spent..." _She had never been kissed before. She had always wanted the person who gave her her first kiss to also be the last one, 'til death do they part, but even if she knew she and Natsume would never last that long, she couldn't let this moment pass. She had already been through so much. She was only setting herself up for disappointment, but she wanted just this one piece of happiness..._ "A mind at peace with all below..." _He gently tilted her chin up to meet his eyes, and time stilled for her as he breathed the last line of the poem close to her lips—"_A heart whose love is innocent!"_—before meeting them with his own in a kiss that took her breath away.

* * *

**A/N: **That was probably the fluffiest thing I've ever written. I hope I didn't choke you with fluff and that you're still there to review? =) It's much appreciated.


	14. Aphrodisiac

******Disclaimer: **Gakuen Alice and the image aren't mine. The image is from Lindsay Jardine's pinterest "Fotografia", pinned from 7ussam's tumblr and wangxu3192's flickr... either way, the image isn't mine.

**Author's Notes: **Thank you for your reviews!

* * *

**Chapter 13: Aphrodisiac**

"YOUICHI! Youichi, where are you? If you're hiding from us, you can come out now, because this isn't funny—"

"Calm down." A hand rested casually on her shoulder for the briefest moment before pulling away. "You're making a scene."

Mikan flushed at his touch. After their kiss last night, she couldn't look at him, couldn't be around him without blushing so heavily that his eyes looked a muted brown next to her flaming cheeks. It was her first kiss, after all, and she couldn't help but replay the memory in her mind again every time she so much as glanced at him. He was affecting her so much that it physically pained her to see him acting like it never happened. Being inexperienced in the arena of romance, she didn't really know what was supposed to happen after a kiss—maybe a confession of undying love (that was impossible; this was Natsume, after all) or even just a talk about where they'd go from there—but she was certain that it wasn't ignoring each other unless absolutely necessary.

Then again, it was possible that he was ignoring her because they'd both been thoroughly embarrassed when they were caught last night...

_His kiss was gentle at first, as if testing to see if she would push him away. When she didn't, he pulled her closer, and her arms went from resting on his chest to circling around his neck. He deepened the kiss and this time she responded with equal fervour—_

"_Mikan! Nobara ne—oh, my."_

_She started at the sound of Maho's voice and hastily pushed him away, blushing when she saw the elderly lady standing by the door. Mikan gulped self-consciously and smoothed down the front of her blouse. _

"_What are you doing here, Maho?" she heard him say beside her, his face a mask._

"_Sir, I—one of the maids is in need of Mikan's help and... and your mother wants to see you in—"_

"_Next time, Maho, I would really appreciate it if you knocked." There was a steely edge to his voice._

"_I-I'm sorry, Sir, I wasn't aware that you were here and that—"_

"_Where is she?"_

"_Sir?"_

"_My mother."_

"_She just arrived, and she's in the drawing room—"_

_He was already out the door before she finished speaking, without as much as a backward glance at Mikan._

_She ignored the twinge of pain in her heart, and she rubbed her face in hopes of lessening the blush on it. _

"_Oh, Mikan," Maho whispered, watching her as she slowly lifted her guilty eyes to meet hers, radiating so much innocence that she seemed ethereal, like an angel from heaven. She shuffled up to her and enveloped her in a hug. "Oh, Mikan. Please don't fall in love with him. He'll only break you..."_

The elder woman had been right, of course. Right now his silence, his indifference, was slowly breaking her already.

"We'll have to split up to find him," Natsume suggested evenly, not looking at her. He hadn't even called her Polka once that day, and she was starting to miss it, no matter how perverted it was. "Youichi's drawn to figurines and shiny objects, so I'm going to check out the figurine displays over there. You can check out the jewellery stalls here."

She nodded once, not trusting herself to speak.

"I'll meet you back here in thirty minutes, whether or not we find him. Agreed?"

She forced herself to look up at his emotionless eyes. _Why does he have to be so painfully handsome? _Even in a ratty coat, he stood out with the way he conducted himself—he walked around the streets like he was royalty, and she didn't miss the stares and simpers he drew from females of every age. "Agreed," she managed to say.

He turned around and shoved his way through the noisy crowd. Mikan stared at his strong, broad back wistfully, allowing herself a few moments of self-pity before refocusing her mind on the task at hand. Really, a young child under her care was _missing _and all she could think about was some silly unrequited love! What if he had been kidnapped and held ransom? What if he got trampled in the crowd? Oh, she really shouldn't have left him to stare at the baker's cake for the week... Granted, it was only for a few moments, but she should've known Youichi would try to get away from her given an opportunity...

She approached the first jewellery stall, one she remembered passing by with Youichi earlier that day. "Excuse me, Aunty," she said politely at the plump woman, who promptly turned to look at her, "have you seen a little boy, about this height, with platinum-blond hair?"

The woman shook her head. "Sorry, luv. I've seen too many li'l tykes today. Can't remember any one."

"Oh. Thank you, anyway."

She went to eight other stalls, receiving the same blank looks and distracted answers, before huffing and plopping down on a rickety bench, exhausted. She'd _never _find Youichi at this rate.

"Hello there, miss!"

Startled at the voice, Mikan looked around, wondering if she was the one being addressed.

"Yeah, I'm talking to you, girl-in-pink."

Her gaze finally landed on the grinning blond man in the stall beside her. "Might I interest you in some of my—"

"I'm sorry, I'm not interested. I'm looking for a little, boy, though—"

"—with grayish eyes, silver hair, and about this height?" he gestured, still grinning.

Mikan's pulse raced, hopeful. "So you've seen him? Where did he go? Did he get himself into any trouble?"

"Whoa, whoa," he chuckled. "I just heard you repeating that to nearly every vendor here. Sorry, but I haven't seen him."

"Oh." Her face fell. "Well, thank you anyway. I'll be off then—"

"Wait a second, miss. You might be interested in my products..."

Mikan briefly eyed the shiny little bottles lined up on his table and firmly shook her head. "I'm really sorry, but I have to go."

"These aren't what they seem!" he said in a rush. "They contain aphrodisiacs—'love potions', as they're more commonly known among girls your age, although that term isn't really accurate."

She stopped in her tracks. She'd heard of these "love potions", all right, but she never believed them to be effective. Right now, though, she thought of Natsume, and she felt desperate enough to listen to some bogus sales talk, as long as it'll feed her some hope.

"Ah," said the man—no, he couldn't be a man yet; he seemed only a little older than she was—with a knowing smile that sent goose bumps up her arms. It was almost as if he was reading her mind when he added, "A pretty girl like yourself shouldn't be suffering from unrequited love. A bottle of this, though, can easily remedy that."

Mikan slowly turned to him, her treacherous heart beckoning her closer to the colourful little glass vials filled with innocuous-looking liquid. "How do I know that that stuff really works?"

"Why, miss, these bottles are filled with the finest aphrodisiacs from all over the world! These contain the very essence of special spices from China, choice nuts from the Mediterranean, and the finest cacao extracts from Africa. I have numerous customers who can attest to its effectiveness. Oh, you don't believe me? Here, take a whiff." He unscrewed the top of a red bottle and presented it to her. "Just one whiff, mind you—it's _very _potent—"

Mikan took a tentative sniff. The sweet, heady aroma immediately invaded her senses. She felt heat rush to her cheeks and down to the nether regions of her body, and her knees nearly bucked beneath her from the desire that suddenly coursed through her veins. She reached out to hold onto the strange man's arm to steady herself. "How much?" she gasped.

He replaced the cap of the bottle with a smug grin. "Three thousand yen," he said.

Mikan's eyes bulged out of their sockets. That was more than she'd be earning for this week! It was unreasonable. Besides, what if it didn't work? Her money would've gone to waste, and she still didn't have Natsume's attention. What in the world was she thinking, anyway, pinning her hopes on a silly love potion?

She schooled her expression into one of bland disinterest. "That's quite an unreasonable price, sir. I'm not spending my money on something I'm fully convinced will work. Well, I'll be on my way now."

"Not fully convinced?" he said disbelievingly, rooting her in place by grabbing her upper arm. His grip was not aggressive, but it still made her uncomfortable. "Miss, you saw what a single whiff of it could do!"

"Yes, but if I plan to slip it in someone's drink, the smell would immediately tip him off and make him suspicious. Now, please let me go—"

"Oh, so you really do have someone in mind," he smiled. "Well, I have odorless, colorless ones. They're not as potent as this, I'll be honest with you, but they're nearly just as efficient."

"I really have to go—"

"I'll give it to you for a thousand yen."

Mikan thought of Natsume again.

_Stupid, stupid! Stop thinking of him! _She shook her head violently to clear her thoughts, telling herself that this _love potion _wouldn't work on him anyway. "Sir, if you don't let go of me now—"

"I don't like selling love at such a low price, but fine—five hundred yen." He let go of her arm. "Only for you, miss."

Mikan hesitated. Right now, she had three hundred yen in her pocket. If she could get him to give it to her for three hundred yen...

But would it really be worth it? Would she really place three hundred yen on the line for a chance to get Natsume to notice her again?

"How long will it last?" she asked, her resolve crumbling.

"My cheapest ones last for a few hours, about three to four at most. Buuut there's a wonderful side effect: if your man truly has feelings for you, even just a little bit, he will constantly be aware of his attraction to you even if the effects of the aphrodisiac fade. It depends on him if he will acknowledge it or ignore it."

"But what if... what if he doesn't have any feelings for me?"

He flashed her an eerie Cheshire cat grin. "Oh, I'm positive he does."

Mikan thought about it for awhile, and then finally surrendered to her heart. She was normally very prudent, but lately she was making some rash decisions, all because of... Well, she couldn't really call it love, but it was pretty darn close. "Three hundred yen," she haggled.

"Are you kidding? That's—"

"That's all I have," she explained, emptying her pockets. "Either that or I walk away right now."

He pursed his lips in thought, and after a few moments, he sighed. "Alright, three hundred yen. How could I refuse such a pretty woman?"

**-o-O-o-O-o-**

When she finally met up with Natsume again, she felt ridiculously high on hope. That and relief that his search hadn't been as futile as hers—he was carrying Youichi on his back now, who was clutching a figurine of a dragon, sleeping quite soundly.

"Thank goodness he's safe," she exclaimed. "Are you tired of carrying him? I can—"

He shook his head once. "I'll handle it."

Her heart clenched painfully again at his callousness, and she couldn't help but finger the aphrodisiac through the pocket of her satchel bag for some comfort. All she had to do now was to get him alone and slip it in his drink or his food, and...

"Oi, Natsume!"

They both turned around—Mikan did so on instinct, even if it wasn't her name that was called—and saw Ruka waving at them a meter or so away. He shoved through the crowd to get to them, Hotaru following the path he paved behind him. "What a surprise to see you here."

Natsume's face twisted into a sneer. "I could say the same to the two of you."

"Hotaru!" Mikan squeaked, attempting to hug her friend and failing yet again. It was probably a ritual greeting of theirs, the two boys noted wryly. After Mikan righted herself again a mere second later, she added, "You and Nogi-san are becoming very close friends, ne?"

The two froze. Natsume caught Mikan's eye and smirked, and her heart fluttered at his acknowledgement.

Hotaru was the first to recover. "Well, yes, actually. He's buying me lunch today. Care to join us?"

Ruka gaped at her and was about to protest when she elbowed him hard in the ribs, muttering something low enough for only him to hear. He promptly shut his mouth and forced a smile. "Yes, why not?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to interrupt a lunch between _close friends_," Natsume taunted, enjoying the flustered look on his friend's face. Man, he didn't know what Imai did to him to have him all wrapped up around her little pinky, but Ruka sure was whipped.

"You won't be interrupting anything, I assure you," Hotaru replied icily. "Besides, it's Nogi's treat."

"I didn't say any—"

She glared at him once, the threat clear in her eyes. He shut up again. "Yeah," he said weakly, "my treat. Whoopee."

**-o-O-o-O-o-**

Hotaru's restaurant of choice was a quaint little seafood place in the more deserted, upscale part of town. It wasn't the most expensive, but the prices on the menu were high enough to send Mikan hyperventilating, so she had ordered the cheapest item on the menu—aside from the bottled water, of course.

After the others had finished ordering, an awkward silence fell over them. Well, it was awkward mostly because Mikan and Ruka tried to fill the silence in with small talk that quickly died, while Natsume and Hotaru were glaring daggers at each other.

Finally, while Ruka was in the middle of talking about his pet rabbit, Natsume spoke. "Imai. We need to talk."

Dead silence. Hotaru met his steely gaze with her own. "Well, go on, Hyuuga. Talk."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "_Alone._"

Something passed between the two that both Ruka and Mikan missed, and suddenly they were both standing. "Outside," Natsume said shortly to her. To them, he said, "Excuse us. This will only take a few minutes."

When they left, Ruka and Mikan both looked at each other. "What just happened there?" she asked.

He shrugged. "No idea. But I can't say it's not normal; they've always had this weird connection going on."

Mikan's heart clenched. "You mean, they like each other?"

Ruka stared at her like her skin turned green. "Are you kidding? They can't _stand _each other. They dislike each other, and that's on good days."

"But... you said they had a connection..."

He laughed. "I meant that sometimes it seems like they're doing telepathy. Imai called me an idiot after I told her that, and she said that only idiots like myself are incapable of knowing what a person wants to say by reading their facial expressions." He rolled his eyes.

Mikan giggled, feeling a lot better. "She told me that too! You know, Nogi-san, you seem to be hanging out with Hotaru a lot nowadays."

He flushed. "W-well... I kind of need to... business-related stuff, you know. Besides, she usually blackmails me into it."

She gave him a sly smile. It was so out-of-place on her angelic face that it looked almost comical. "You're blushing."

"I am not!"

"You're in denial."

"I am—" he stopped himself before he added the _not_, his blush deepening. "I am, uh, in great need to use the comfort room. Excuse me for awhile, Mikan."

That smile of hers never slipped off her face. "Of course."

Once he was gone, the waiter came to serve the clear crab soup. It was the restaurant's specialty, so Hotaru had ordered one for each of them. Mikan thanked him before he left.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, placing a hand over her pounding heart to calm it. _This is my chance._ She glanced around to make sure no one was looking and checked on Youichi to make sure he was still fast asleep. Then, she took the aphrodisiac out and swiftly poured its contents into Natsume's soup, taking great care not to disturb the croutons and parsley garnished on it.

_Please, please work, _she thought to herself, hastily keeping the little bottle again in her satchel. She plastered on an innocent smile when Ruka returned, and tried not to look too guilty when Natsume slid in next to her moments later.

"Hotaru, is everything all right?" she asked.

"Of course," her friend replied curtly before digging in her crab soup once she laid eyes on it. She remained poised, but Mikan knew that if she had been alone, Hotaru would've gulped it down straight from the bowl. She grinned at this.

Her amusement was short-lived, though, when Natsume didn't even touch his soup. She wasn't the only one to notice.

"Hey, Natsume, don't you like the soup?" Ruka asked. At Natsume's raised brow, his eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh, right. I forgot you're allergic to crabs. Well, I hope you don't mind if—"

"—I take it from you," Hotaru cut in, pushing her empty bowl aside and pulling Natsume's towards her.

Mikan felt her throat close up. _No, no, no! _Hotaru _mustn't _drink that! The vendor's parting words to her were suddenly reverberating in her mind—_use it wisely._ Oh dear... "Hotaru-chan, that's very greedy of you," her voice came out an octave higher than usual. "You've already finished one bowl!"

"I'm not greedy," she said, popping a crouton in her mouth. "It's a waste of money to just leave it here, so I'll finish it myself."

"You could share it, you know," Ruka mumbled crossly.

"Yeah, Hotaru," Mikan piped in. "Don't be so selfish."

"I'll let you have some when you finish your own soups," she allowed, bringing a spoonful of it to her mouth.

No, this couldn't be happening. She had to stop her friend—who knows what the aphrodisiac would do to her? The vendor couldn't warn her enough about the potency of this aphrodisiac—after taking it, the person would immediately be attracted to _any _member of the opposite sex, so it was dangerous if he or she wasn't alone—oh, what if Hotaru fell in love with Natsume _and _Ruka at the same time and... and... Ah, forget it. There were just too many possibilities of what Hotaru could do after taking the aphrodisiac, none of which Mikan could think about without blushing.

The bottom line was, this was going to be disastrous.

With that line of thinking, Mikan leaned over to knock the spoon out of Hotaru's hand, but she was a split-second too late—Hotaru had already swallowed her first spoonful.

Mikan's hand hovered awkwardly over Hotaru's lips, and her friend narrowed her eyes at her. "Mikan, what in the world are you doing?"

Mikan waited one second, and then two, before breathing an internal sigh of relief. The vendor said it'd take a few seconds to take effect—a few seconds came and went and so far nothing was happening. She wasn't sure if she was happy or angry that it didn't work. "Er, sorry, Hotaru-chan," she said sheepishly, sitting back down again, uncomfortable at the three pairs of eyes staring at her. She cleared her throat. "I thought—I thought there was a bug on your, um, nose."

Hotaru rolled her eyes. "I think I would've felt it by now, Mikan." She sipped the soup again, and again, and still nothing happened. Mikan breathed more easily.

"Sorry, Hotaru-chan," she repeated.

"Idiot," she said under her breath, and Mikan knew she was forgiven.

A few minutes later, halfway through her soup, Hotaru suddenly felt uncomfortably hot. She tugged on the collar of her blouse and frowned, wondering if the air-conditioning had broken down.

"Feeling all right, Imai?"

Hotaru nearly dropped her spoon at the violent, delightful goose bumps that travelled up her arms at the sound of that voice—

Wait, _what_? That was _Nogi's_ voice, for goodness' sakes. His voice was deep, yes, but so were the voices of most guys his age. It was normal, and she wasn't the type of girl to swoon over the "rich baritones" or the "husky basses" of men. That was so nauseatingly pathetic.

"Just peachy," she deadpanned at him, tugging at her collar again and focusing on her soup.

"Are you sure, Hotaru-chan?" Mikan asked, eyes wide with concern and—was that guilt?

Hotaru shook her head. She was imagining things. "I'm fine."

"Imai, you look flushed." This time even the fine hairs on her neck and back stood at Nogi's voice, and she had to repress a shudder.

"I said I'm fine," she snapped, and to get him to shut the hell up, she gave him her most withering glare.

That quickly turned out to be the wrong thing to do. Just as her eyes met his sparkling sapphire ones—_no, his eyes are just blue, not sparkling sapphire, dammit—_her breath caught in her throat and her heart leapt out of her chest. How could she not have noticed before the luster of his golden locks—_what the hell, he has dull blond hair!_—the perfect arch of his brows—_effing girly eyebrows, that's what they are_—the finely chiselled features of his handsome face? It was only marred by the slight frown on his lips that she very much wanted to kiss away—_dammit dammit DAMMIT! What's wrong with me?_

"Hotaru—" Mikan ventured, but before she could say anything else, Hotaru downed the rest of her soup in a single gulp and stood up rather abruptly.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice a little breathy and her whole face flushed, "I have to go."

"Hotaru—"

"Imai—"

Ruka, looking pissed, went after her the moment she strode away. Mikan attempted to do the same, but Natsume's hand stopped her.

"You should let them be, Polka."

_He called her Polka! _Her heart soared, but she tried to look as irritated as possible. "I can't! Hotaru's my friend and she could be really, um, sick—"

"Imai can handle it," he drawled, "and if not, Ruka can. Now sit down."

"No! You don't understand—eep!"

With one vicious tug, she was suddenly sprawled on his lap in a rather compromising position, and he rested his hands firmly on her waist to keep her from moving. "Natsume!" she said, blushing from the stares the waiters and other patrons in the restaurant were shooting at them, "let me go!"

His smile could only be described as predatory. She wondered vaguely if he had taken even just a sip of the soup and this was now the aphrodisiac working its magic on him. "Only if you don't go after Imai."

She puffed her cheeks out, thoroughly irritated now, and tried to push him away, but he was pretty darn strong. "I don't understand you," she mumbled, her face heating up. "You practically ignore me the whole morning and now you're—you're—"

His grip on her had slackened, but still not enough for her to wriggle herself free. He looked puzzled. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed, Polka."

"Noticed what?"

"That Imai—and Ruka, since she blackmailed him—were stalking us."

"They were?" Mikan couldn't recall seeing them in the marketplace, except for when Ruka had called out to them just before coming here. Hm, was that why Natsume pulled her friend outside to talk? To tell her to stop stalking them and torturing his best friend?

He rolled his eyes. "I saw her lurking around the stalls more times than I can count. I bet she's making sure I don't do anything fishy."

"Oh, you mean like what you're doing now?"

He smirked. "No, I mean like what I'm about to do now."

He kissed her right then in the middle of the restaurant, and she melted into him just like last night. Euphoria surged in her, making her heart swell and her blood sing. _Hotaru can take care of herself_, she decided, echoing Natsume's sentiments. _And I'm sure Nogi-san is considerate enough to make sure nothing bad happens to her. He _is_ a gentleman, after all..._

**-o-O-o-O-o-**

"Imai!" Ruka scowled. He tried not to think of why he was following her like this, of why he even remotely cared for her well-being when the only good thing she had done to him was... he couldn't even think of _one_ good thing she'd done to him. "Can you please stop walking and tell me why you're acting like a bitch?"

She didn't stop, but he heard her reply. "Because I _am _a bitch, Nogi. Now bug off."

He gritted his teeth. The absolute _nerve _of the woman! First she blackmails him (with some atrocious pictures of his pubescent days—God knows how she got them) to spy on Mikan while she stalked Natsume in the marketplace, and then she announces that they're having lunch and, oh, by the way, that _he's paying for it_, and thenshe storms the hell out of the restaurant without touching the ridiculously expensive food she had ordered, which, did he mention, _he was paying for_!

He'd had enough. To the hell with his father's plan to "make friends with Imai to get her to sell her inventions to us". He wasn't becoming her friend, not even close—he was becoming her slave. That was never part of the plan.

He overtook her in three long strides, and she crashed right into his chest. She pulled away with lightning speed, hissing like she'd just been electrocuted—which wasn't far from the truth, actually. "What the hell is your problem?" he growled at her, gripping both her arms and pulling her into an alley that branched off the main street to make sure that she couldn't escape.

"Go away, Nogi," she snarled. She showed more emotion at that moment than for the whole time he'd known her, and stunned as he was, he almost did as she said. But his pride wouldn't be abused by her any further. She had done enough damage to it, starting two weeks ago when she exploited him into doing things for her so that she'd accept their company's proposal. He'd ran errands for her and chased after lab rats for her and practically bent over backwards to please her, but there was a limit to how far back he could bend until he'd break.

Today, he had reached his breaking point.

"And if I don't?" he said, eyes burning into hers. His sneer would've made Natsume proud. "You'll blackmail me again?"

"Yes," she hissed, squirming in his grip. "Unhand me, or I _will_ make your life hell—"

"No," he said. "Not until you explain to me why you said I was taking you out for lunch _and _paying for it, along with Natsume's and Mikan's. Why you just stormed off without even saying 'thank you' like a civilized person. Why you're _so intent_ on messing with my mind and my life."

"Because," she bit out. She could hardly think with the heat eating her up from the inside and the tingles of electricity that shot through her nerves at his touch. She didn't know what was happening; all she knew was that she had no control over herself, and she didn't like it. She had to get away from him before she gave in to the strange urges her mind was whispering at her body to do.

"Because?" he prompted, and again his voice was like music to her ears, all rich baritone and husky bass rolled into one. She had stopped disputing the clichés her mind was using to describe him long ago—it was futile to fight it, whatever _it _was.

She forced herself to meet his eyes, wanting to be brave, but his stormy gaze sent the heat in her body rushing downwards and her breathing came out in ragged gasps—proof that Ruka Nogi was a fine specimen of a man, even more so when angry. Her hands were just itching to touch him; she wanted to lick him all over...

_What. The. Efffffff. _

Heaven help her.

"I'm expecting an answer, Imai," he said.

"Because," she tried again, but her brilliant mind was shutting down. That thing fighting for control—her id, her inner animal, whatever it was—was winning the war against her logical side. She couldn't piece together a coherent sentence anymore, except for one nagging one: _kiss me kiss me kiss me now __**now **__**NOW.**_

Each time she tried to resist that urge, an indescribable pain stabbed at her heart. She wanted to claw it out of her chest to ease the pain, but currently her hands were pinned against the wall, and she had no other means of reprieve.

So she did the only thing she thought logical at that moment. She strained against his hold and kissed him hard.

The electricity shooting through her was suddenly multiplied a hundredfold, nearly matching the intensity of a lightning bolt. All the little hairs on her skin stood on end in anticipation_._

She pulled away, inhaling his wonderfully male scent. Sufficiently stunned and not knowing how to react, Ruka had unconsciously let go of her, and she took the opportunity to run her hands over his chest, loving the feel of his muscles under the fabric of his shirt.

"Imai," he said, his breathing becoming as ragged as hers, "w-what are you doing?"

"Shut up and kiss me," she ordered, and just like that her lips were on his again. This was becoming really twisted—she was an evil, conniving, blackmailing witch, and aside from that she probably wasn't in her right mind; her kissing him now was proof enough—but she felt so good in his arms and her kiss was so intoxicating that he succumbed to it.

Okay, so she was an evil, conniving, blackmailing witch, but that didn't mean that she was ugly. The first time he saw her months ago Natsume had to remind him to close his gaping mouth, and for the first few weeks of their acquaintance he could hardly speak to her without stuttering. Good thing she was cruel—he couldn't stutter to someone who was bullying and blackmailing him, so he got over that bad habit of his—but she was still gorgeous, and he'd go so far as to say that right now, with her lips and tongue working wonders on his, that she was the most stunning girl he'd ever met.

He pulled away from the kiss and brought his lips to her slender neck, sucking at her pulse point. Her grip on his shirt tightened. For a second there, he flinched and expected her to push him away and blackmail him into oblivion, but she only pulled him closer and whimpered. "R-Ruka..."

He stilled.

"What's the matter?" she said, her voice breathy.

Oh gods, if she talked to him like that every day, he'd gladly make himself her human lab rat for life.

"You called me Ruka," he spoke against her skin, his lips leaving a trail of fire from her neck to the shell of her ear.

"I gather you like it..."—he could hardly believe it; she was _purring _now—"...Ruka."

That was his ultimate undoing, and he proceeded to kiss her like he she wouldn't murder him for it tomorrow.

**-o-O-o-O-o-**

Mikan arrived back at the Hyuuga mansion an hour later, still flushing from her rather heated kiss with Natsume and the scene she'd seen between her best friend and Nogi-san in an alley. Natsume had been right not to worry about her, after all.

She'd done her duties as the rest of the day progressed, chasing Youichi around the house when it was time for his bath and helping Nobara, the shy kitchen maid she'd become quite attached to, prepare the picky boy's meal. It took her an hour to finish feeding him, the stubborn inquisitive brat, and another to tuck him in, because he didn't like any of the bedtime stories she'd picked out. By the time she retired to her quarters, she was so exhausted that she just collapsed on her bed...

...and promptly howled when her back hit something hard.

Scowling, she reached out under her and pulled the offending object out. It was a hard-bound book, obviously new from the texture and smell of the pages. On its front cover, the words "Shakespeare's Sonnets" were embossed in gold, and under that was a small, yellow post-it note. There was something written on it in an unfamiliar hand.

_Polka—  
__I saw this at the bookstore today and thought that you might like it._


End file.
